


Serpentes

by xErised



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, H/D Pet Fair 2016, Humor, M/M, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Polyjuice Potion, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Smut, Snakes, Stripper Draco Malfoy, Stripper Harry Potter, Stripping, Undercover Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7937587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xErised/pseuds/xErised
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a shame that Draco Malfoy looks so good stripping in a club with stolen snakes, because Auror Harry's got a job to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Setting the Stage

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2016 Harry/Draco Pet Fair. A few thanks: to the mods for organizing the fest; to themightyflynn for such a wonderful prompt — when I saw it, I knew I had to have it; and lastly (but definitely not the least) to M for the wonderfully thorough beta.
> 
> For [Prompt #129](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Td1Xj4ZNIqFDdQLtMpkOWEqn2hI5TEx8tEtrEU1u1U8/edit).

* * *

Bad coffee, a smirking Kingsley Shacklebolt and... _Malfoy —_ never a good start to a Monday morning.

Harry gulps his tepid coffee and swallows thickly. Wincing from the aftertaste, Harry stares at the picture of Draco Malfoy on the Ministry file — Malfoy's mug shot, taken during his sentencing to Azkaban after the War: dishevelled blond hair, defeated grey eyes, healed-over wounds knitted on his cheek, and the black spider's scrawl of Azkaban's serial number tattooed on the right side of his neck. Harry had testified for both Narcissa and Draco Malfoy during the Trials two years ago, reducing Malfoy's sentence to a mere month and releasing Narcissa from custody. Ever since then, he hasn't heard anything about either Malfoy.

Until now.

"Good morning," Kingsley greets. Harry looks up from the file and nods at Kingsley. Beside Harry, Parvati Patil cranes her head over her colleague and shoots a nervous glance at the Gaboon viper seated on the other side of Harry.

The snake catches her eye and hisses. _"Do my dashing good looks still make your friend uneasy? Perhaps she would find my other side more welcoming."_ With that, he slides in a circle on the table, draws himself to full height and poses, throwing Parvati a flirtatious wink.

_"I’ve told you that she's afraid of snakes. Now play nice, won't you?"_ Harry replies, remembering Parvati's cobra Boggart in their third year of Hogwarts. She's now staring straight ahead at Kingsley, but Harry notices her knuckles clenching around her quill.

The snake deflates and sighs rather tragically, " _Oh, how we snakes are always misunderstood..._ ", earning a shush from Harry.

"Draco Malfoy," Kingsley announces, gesturing to the case files in front of both Aurors. "Owner of Serpentes, an exclusive gay dance club in London that doubles as headquarters of the snake trafficking ring we’ve been investigating for the past few months. Parvati's research and Harry’s interviews with Bacon have finally led us here."

The snake called Bacon raises his head when they all turn to look at him.

Expensive, rare and highly dangerous snakes — both pure and mixed-blood — are being poached as part of an international reptile trafficking ring. Not only are the snakes themselves being traded, snake parts such as venom, fangs and eggs are being sold illegally, usually involving the potion trafficking circles. The Auror office is currently working with the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on this case.

Although Harry and Parvati weren't able to catch any criminals on their last raid, they did manage to snag one of the mixed-blood snakes. Bacon couldn't read and understand English, but he told Harry what he knew — for a price, of course.

_"Your name, along with the Lord of the Snakes, descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin, is famed amongst our kind. How fitting that I would be rescued by you, vanquisher of the owner of Nagini, whose name also passes down in our legends! It would be an honour to fight alongside you!"_

_"I... er... really just want some information..."_

_"Hmm... if that's the case, I shall only give you what you desire if you promise to take me in. I have nowhere to go now; my home is far, far away from here. Don't look so aghast, I have powers that would be useful to your line of work."_

Bacon had kept his word. His mixed blood — half-Runespoor, half-Gaboon viper (the Muggle blood had suppressed the three heads and conspicuous colouring of a Runespoor) — had gifted the grey snake with the ability to camouflage himself flawlessly in darkness, proving himself a valuable asset in stealth and tracking missions. Since he was an ambush predator, many a time Bacon could be found lying alert, motionless, coiled and concealed for hours on the dashboard of a car while Harry napped in the back seat.

_"I've also got the highest venom yield out of all snakes,"_ Bacon had boasted, grinning at Harry with a mischievous flash of long fang. _"Don't worry, I promise I won't bite."_

Harry didn't find it so bad hanging around a 1.3 metres-long venomous snake with a snarky, sarcastic attitude. Bacon made for amusing company — in fact, it kinda reminded Harry of someone from school...

Harry pulls himself back to the here and now, his eyes skimming over the photograph of Malfoy as he turns to a page detailing information about Serpentes. He can't believe that the stolen snakes were partnered with strippers because these were very dangerous animals — Bacon had told them about snakes with Ashwinder heritage that could spit fire; a female snake with Basilisk blood that could paralyze people for a short amount of time if she wanted to-

_"She was a total babe, though. Dangerous but sexy as hell…"_

Harry had prudently left out this part when he was translating the conversation for Parvati.

"It's legal to use snakes in entertainment. When I ran a check on the club’s permits, however, there were a few problems…” Parvati trails off and flips through a folder of documents. “Based on the paperwork, they’re cleared to use only Muggle snakes, but according to Bacon, they’re using these magical snakes too. Apparently no one in Magical Creatures followed up,” Parvati says, frowning. She turns to Harry. "Have you heard about Serpentes before?"

Harry shakes his head. It's not a secret that Harry is gay — he doesn't go around announcing it to everyone, of course, but Kingsley, Parvati and his close friends knew and were completely fine with it.

"We'll have to be careful because it's headquarters, so you're posted undercover this time round," Kingsley says, and once again Harry spots that smirk twitching on his lips. 

Harry nods. “I'll ask around at the clubs tonight, see if I can get an invitation or something.” 

"No need for that," Kingsley tosses a bag at Harry. Harry pulls out a full-length photograph of a tall and _seriously_ good-looking young man with messy black hair and cheerful blue eyes. Harry notices a sculpted physique; all broad shoulders and bulging biceps. The rest of him looks pretty good too, Harry thinks, sending an appreciative gaze down the man's lower body.

Harry puts the picture away and extracts a container of Polyjuice pills from the bag. Unlike the liquid Polyjuice that Harry had first been accustomed to in his teens, the Ministry had developed a more sophisticated form to be used exclusively by its Aurors — pills that lasted for different time durations, ranging from half an hour to twelve hours.

Kingsley clears his throat. "Serpentes is holding auditions for new strippers this Friday night."

Harry looks at the photograph, to the Polyjuice pills, and back to the photograph again.

He goes very still.

"Kingsley, no."

"Kingsley _yes,_ " Kingsley says around a grin, while Parvati tries very hard not to burst out laughing.

"I can't dance!" Harry protests, and it's true. Even though he does frequent clubs, he never tries to dance, knowing that he'll probably look like a floppy wet fish. "Just give me something else. How about a... a book-keeper?!"

"Harry, you have no idea what a book-keeper does."

"'Course I do! They... uh... keep books and stuff. Or... how about a cleaner?" Harry pleads.

"A cleaner might not have access to the snakes, and it's much easier to infiltrate the club and obtain information as a stripper."

Parvati bites her lip before jumping in.

"We would have asked you first, but you were on holiday with Ron and Hermione last week. You know how I'm like when we're this close to breaking a case. I hung around outside the club last Thursday night and I heard some of them talking about the auditions. The deadline for applications was last Saturday. I talked it over with Kingsley, and we couldn't see any other way," Parvati explains in a rather apologetic air. She gestures to the photograph. "I found him at the Muggle airport boarding a plane for Southeast Asia. Asked him to pose for a photo, got enough hairs and sent him on his way."

"We don't know if there'll be other opportunities like this," Kingsley adds. Harry exhales heavily, knowing that it's true. Once again, Harry finds his gaze wandering to the picture of Malfoy.

So... he's going to be stripping at Malfoy's club.

_This could be interesting._

"I understand," Harry says, injecting a reassuring note in his words even though he doesn’t feel reassured at all.

"Spend the next few days clearing the paperwork on your remaining cases. I won't be expecting you in the office when you're undercover, since Dan Felton" — Kingsley indicates the photo with his chin (Harry knows that the name is as genuine as his dancing skills) — "will be busy undercover, or should I say... _uncovering_ at night."

Both Parvati and Harry groan at his pun as they pack up their things and shuffle out of the room, Bacon slithering beside Harry.

"Oh, and Harry?"

Harry turns back to Kingsley, who winks at him before speaking.

"Don't forget to practise. Who knows, you might be good enough to land a spot in the department's talent show this Christmas."

* * *

Surprisingly, Serpentes isn't located anywhere in Wizarding London; instead, it's sandwiched unobtrusively between a Boots pharmacy and a Starbucks in a rather quiet street near Vauxhall. The Muggle passers-by don't even look twice at the club. 

Harry feels Bacon's sinuous body clench briefly around his arm, shoulder and upper back before he slides away, almost collapsing on the ground.

"I still can't get used to this... Apparation. Even the fireplace is better," Bacon gasps and glides to the wall, where he lies hidden in the shadow of the adjacent dumpster. If Harry looks hard enough, he can see the snake's triangular head, tapering into a narrow neck. Bacon's entire body is a sleek gun-metal grey, with the exception of a triangular patch of dark blue-black below each eye. A small distinctive pair of pointy horns protrude from his snout — for some reason, this is Harry's favourite feature about him.

"I'll meet you back here in an hour," Harry says. In response, the snake flicks his tongue out to smell the air around them. They're skulking about in an alleyway opposite Serpentes. Harry whips out his Invisibility Cloak, disappears under it and makes his way towards the club. He catches a glimmer of diamond-like scales as Bacon moves together with him before disappearing momentarily under a parked car and re-emerging a short distance away from Harry. The snake turns towards the back of the club while Harry advances towards the front.

The entire exterior of Serpentes is black, except for the letters in royal purple spelling out Serpentes, with the _S_ stylised similarly to the _S_ in Slytherin House. There are no windows for Harry to peer into and no sound that he can hear. He waits by the doors, and it isn't long before a well-dressed gentleman approaches the entrance. Harry stays close to his back, ducks in after him…

…and manages to step back just in time when two bouncers immediately flank the guest, requesting identification. "You'd think that you'd recognise me by now, since I come here almost every night," the gentleman harrumphs as he brandishes a thick black card with the purple stylised _S_ embossed on it. 

"Gotta follow protocol," one of the bouncers grunts, tapping his wand to the card. The other bouncer frowns at the door. He advances towards Harry, who knocks against the gentleman to escape to the sides.

"There's no need to push me, please," the gentleman bites out.

"Sorry. I thought the door..." the second bouncer trails off, confused. Harry slinks towards the empty cloak-room where he stows the Cloak away in his pocket. He looks at his Glamoured reflection in a mirror — neat mousy-brown hair, dull brown eyes, thin lips, unremarkable Muggle clothes — he looks as nondescript and forgettable as the club's exterior. Satisfied with his appearance, Harry starts the familiar process of reconnaissance.

This isn't like any gay club he's visited — Harry's all too used to the dizzying technicolour strobe lights illuminating the bumping and grinding of half-naked bodies on the dance floor; glitter raining down on the heaving masses that twirl on linoleum floors stained, sticky and sweet because of spilt alcohol — but _this_... this is posh. But Harry shouldn't be surprised — it's _Malfoy's_ club, after all.

Harry's shoes step on thick and cream-coloured carpet as he walks towards the stage. Circular red lamps drift on top of the stage, throwing flattering light on the three strippers. He sits on one of the black leather chairs, flips half-heartedly at the menu and places it back on its stand. Beneath the thumping music — the only thing that Serpentes has in common with the other clubs — Harry can detect a thrum of... _anticipation_ in the air, as if the audience is waiting for something.

Harry casually scopes the clientele that Serpentes attracts. He's astonished when he recognises some of them — a handful of politicians that are _married;_ Quidditch players that Harry didn't even know were gay; and some businessmen that Harry knew by face but not by name. Harry looks towards the stage and squints at the snakes wrapped around the strippers. He recognises all three snakes, according to Bacon's descriptions and what the Aurors have seen during their previous raids.

When the strippers finish their set, Harry gets up and threads his way to where they step off the stage. He can only proceed a few steps along the narrow corridor when he sees a pair of bouncers lurking around a corner. The Invisibility Cloak presses against his thigh, and he's just about to use it when he hears a door open and footsteps drawing closer. He hurries back to the main area and watches as a fresh group of strippers emerge, flanked by the bouncers, who stand guard at the spot where Harry stood mere seconds ago. Harry spots another pair of bouncers and strippers crossing the adjacent walkway.

Security's tight here.

Careful to stick to the perimeter of the crowd, Harry explores the rest of the club — the loos; a quieter area where patrons can order drinks and chat, and a smaller, more private room (currently cordoned off) with a stage. He does another sweep of the club, this time discreetly casting charms that check for concealment, frustrated when he turns up short. Compared to the other clubs, the public area of Serpentes is much smaller.

He saves the bar for his last stop — God, even the bartender is fit as hell here. Someone calls out the bartender's name and orders a drink. Harry shamelessly checks out _Jacob,_ the sandy-blond, half-naked bartender while he works his craft, producing a fizzy, frothy lime-green concoction garnished with cherries spiralled with gold flakes. Jacob flicks his wrist towards the customer, and the drink slowly levitates and starts to float…

…towards Draco Malfoy, who raises the glass, nods at Jacob and turns back to another man.

Harry is not prepared for this assault of Malfoy-related memories and emotions. It's as if his mind is working on rewind — Malfoy's pale, drawn face during the Trials; his screams echoing in Harry's ear as Fiendfyre licks their heels; Harry's own hands coming away with Malfoy's blood, which trickles down and mixes with the water on the bathroom floor... and so many more...

Harry drops his gaze, careful to not get caught staring. He grabs a napkin from the holder and rubs at a spot on the table, taking the chance to centre himself. It's been two years, and he's here, undercover for work. Harry takes a deep breath and pulls his professionalism front and centre.

"Let me get that," Jacob reaches over, wipes the mahogany counter down and grins at Harry. "Hey, you're new! What can I get for you tonight?"

"Ogden's, please," Harry smiles. Jacob bustles back to his arsenal of alcohol and Harry shifts his attention back to Malfoy. Malfoy's engrossed in a serious conversation with his companion, judging by the way he's gnawing on a knuckle and frowning. He's wearing a dark-blue collared shirt with the sleeves folded up to his forearms, revealing his Dark Mark. Malfoy pushes blond hair away from his neck and Harry spots the Azkaban serial number printed across his pale skin. Malfoy picks up his drink, long fingers twirling the stem of the glass. Harry watches as Malfoy lets the cherry rest briefly against his lips before popping it in his mouth.

Harry wonders why he can't look away from Malfoy's throat.

"And no, Draco's not dancing tonight, if you're wondering," Jacob's voice jolts Harry out of his thoughts — no, he was definitely _not_ having inappropriately sexy thoughts about _Malfoy_ , of all people — "You're not the first to look at him like that," Jacob pushes the Firewhiskey towards Harry and winks at him. He waves Harry's proffered Galleons away. "First drink's on the house!" 

Harry takes a pull of Firewhiskey.

"So this... Draco... he's a pretty popular dancer?" Harry asks casually. Draco's name feels strange, almost _dangerous_ on his tongue. Harry's also surprised that Malfoy's a stripper even though he owns the place.

"Yep. One of the best we've got. Actually... one of the best in the business," Jacob offers, and Harry thanks his lucky stars for fit and chatty bartenders.

"Why isn't he dancing tonight, then?"

"He's not working this week — something to do with family, I reckon, but he did drop by two days ago," Jacob rests an elbow on the bar, his body angled towards Malfoy. "He's prickly and sharp when you first get to know him, but he's a pretty decent bloke to work for. Don’t get him drunk, though, he’s a dreadful drunk,” Jacob laughs, shaking his head, but the tone of affection in his voice is apparent.

They watch the dancers for a while.

“They don’t have what Draco has though. The crowd just eats up his bad-boy stunt,” Jacob says.

"What d'you mean?"

"You can't miss his Dark Mark and Azkaban number when he dances. Uses them to his advantage, sets him apart from the other strippers. He's made some mistakes in his past, but he’s paid dearly for them," Jacob pauses. "Oh, but why am I describing his dancing to you? Come back and watch him! He’s doing his first set of the week on Friday night, right after the auditions."

_The auditions._

Harry takes an extremely long gulp of Firewhiskey.

"The... auditions?" Harry asks, feeling a bit of bravado seep into him.

"Stripper auditions! It's gonna be a great show," Jacob grins, then lowers his voice. "Just between you and me, there's one of 'em worth watching — tall with messy black hair, gorgeous blue eyes, amazing body. I could just lick ice-cream off his abs, ya know what I mean? I can't really remember his name, one of those single-syllable names, I think. We've all got our eye on him."

" _We?_ " Harry croaks, the remnants of said bravado fleeing entirely when he realises that Jacob’s talking about _him_ , or rather, him in Dan's skin.

"Well, of _course_ he'll be dancing for the crowd!" Jacob exclaims, looking surprised. "Draco and Matt," — he indicates the man with red hair talking to Malfoy — "will be the judges. We're all _very_ eager to see this mystery man perform. If he dances as good as he looks, then..." Jacob fans himself theatrically and smirks at Harry, before his expression dissolves into one of concern.

"You don't look too well. D'you want some water?"

"No! I just gotta… go. It's late," Harry gulps down whatever's left of his Firewhiskey.

Jacob looks at his watch. "It's only eleven! You should stay 'til midnight. The club looks and feels really different after twelve."

"No, I really gotta-" Harry's pushing away from the counter, the stool scraping against the floor. He stands, and he's not exactly sure why he's feeling faint; is it because he drank on a half-empty stomach, or is it because in less than four days, he's supposed to go up on _that_ stage with those lights and snakes and all the _people_ watching him _strip_ with Draco-fucking- _Malfoy_ assessing his non-existent dancing skills so he can get a _job_ at a strip club, Merlin _fuck-_

This is not in his Auror contract.

"Come back soon, then. Hey, what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," Harry throws over his shoulder as he stumbles away from the bar and hurries out of the club. Grateful for the fresh air and cessation of thumping music, he goes back to the alleyway to meet Bacon.

"You alright?" Bacon asks at once. Harry nods, closes his eyes to recover his equilibrium and lets the snake crawl up his body so they can Apparate home.

Harry lets Bacon disembark, then he goes to the kitchen, pours himself a glass of water and drinks deeply. Feeling much better, Harry enters his bedroom where Bacon is already coiled up beside a sheaf of parchment on his table. Harry sits down, loads his quill with ink and starts to draw a map of the club's interior. When he's done, he explains it to Bacon, who adds his own embellishments to the map.

"There are many areas that are well-guarded, but these two rooms are especially suspicious," Bacon points out. Harry labels them with a question mark. "I spent half the time hunting for adjacent pipes or windows to allow me access, but every possible opening is sealed except for the main doors." Bacon jabs his tail at one of the two rooms. "The snakes are kept here. But I do not know if it's much use even if you talk to them — they are drugged and kept asleep most of the time when they’re not on stage."

"How about you go undercover too?"

Bacon shakes his large triangular head. "I cannot pretend to be one of them. You rescued me before they could brand me with a number" — another set of serial numbers pressed on pale skin flashes in Harry's mind — "so they'll know that I didn't enter by the official channels. Even if I let them catch me, they might ship me off to somewhere else instead."

Bacon flicks his tongue at the other room. "But we can work on this. Once you become a stripper, you'll have a lot more access to the back areas. We might find other useful clues then."

"We're back to that again, huh?" Harry says, dredging up a watery smile. He locks the map up and takes out the bag of Polyjuice pills, with Bacon practically bouncing up and down with excitement by his side. Harry strips down to his underwear, fishes out a half-an-hour pill and swallows it, chasing it down with water. It's not long before the transformation is complete.

"Well?" Harry asks, tugging off his glasses and splaying his arms out in front of the snake. Bacon has stopped bouncing and is gaping openly at Harry. He hurries over to the mirror. When he sees his own reflection, his expression is similar to Bacon's.

"You are... as what you bipeds say... _fit_ ," the snake says, nodding his head in approval.

"Not _just_ fit. I'm _fucking_ fit. Bloody _hell_ ," Harry whispers with echoing disbelief. He can't keep his eyes away from the mirror as he turns this new body slowly in a circle. Harry runs a hand through Dan Felton's scrawls of messy black hair not unlike Harry's original hair, but the similarities stop there. Dan's tall — roughly 1.9 metres — with eyes the shade of bright periwinkle-blue. Harry tries a smile on for size; straight, white teeth flash behind full pink lips and laugh lines appear at the corners of his eyes. His nose is longer too, Harry notices as he rubs his face with his large hands.

"Would it not help your love life immensely to make your Polyjuice form more... ah... _permanent_?" Bacon asks delicately.

Harry glares at him.

Harry turns back to his body and runs his palm from his neck down to the broad shoulders, his biceps — he clenches his hand into a fist and feels the muscles jump underneath his touch — down to his abs. His fingers graze the trail of dark hair leading down to his pants and he pauses, his face red (Dan apparently blushes very easily). Harry opens the waistband and quickly closes it, his blush deepening even further — yep, bigger, _definitely_ bigger.

"When you're done checking yourself out, could we get on with it?" Bacon urges, uncoiling his tail and pushing Harry's iPod into his hand. "You look terrific, but you're going to have to _dance_!"

With a few jabs on his iPod — even the device feels smaller in Harry's hands — the bedroom is filled with generic club music. Bacon is already bobbing his head to the beat, no doubt feeling the vibrations from the speakers. Harry tries to follow his lead, swinging his hands and legs, but he can't help feeling like an Erumpent trying to do ballet. It’s going to take some time to get used to this body. Bacon doesn't even wait for the chorus to begin before he stops the music.

"Come on, get on me. I gotta practise with a snake," Harry grumps, sticking an arm out.

Bacon looks horrified.

"No way! You can't even dance _without_ a snake!" Upon catching the thunderous expression on Harry's face, Bacon immediately comes closer to Harry, his tone softening. "Harry, you're supposed to be dancing, but you look like you're having a fit. This isn't surprising, of course, seeing how you humans stomp around with rubbish posture, clumsy feet and absolutely no finesse at all." Bacon wrinkles his snout with distaste and draws himself up to his full height. "There is no other time when you need my help the most. I shall be..." — he tosses his head to the side dramatically — "your dancing teacher."

Harry snorts. "Last time I checked, you don't even have legs."

"But that is a mere technicality! You forget that I know _exactly_ what they want. You'll be dancing with a snake, and what best to have a snake as a coach! When you've improved, I'll dance with you." An encouraging nod accompanies those words. Harry pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling briefly confused when his fingers don't stumble on his glasses like they usually do.

Bacon slithers back to the iPod and beams at Harry, who’s sure that Bacon would have clapped his hands if he had them.

"Shall we begin?"

* * *

The waiting is the worst. The last time Harry had felt like this was when he was waiting for his turn to face the dragon in the Triwizard Tournament, and of course luck would have it that once again, he was due to go last.

Harry had watched, with mounting anxiety, as the seven other applicants filed out one by one from the dressing-room — all of them brimming with a quiet confidence that Harry did not have. Harry had realised that his competitors were experienced in stripping when he ran into an obstacle during registration...

"Reference letters? From your previous strip clubs?"

"I... er... left them at a friend's house, and she's overseas..."

"Well, then you better find a way to get them back. No letter, no audition."

And then Draco Malfoy had appeared, fingernail tapping against the glass of his favourite green drink, lips stained with cherry glaze and his eyebrow arched in query while his gaze raked Harry up and down.

"No letters? Well... we can't turn him away now, can we? _Many_ people will be disappointed, and that's not good for business. Let him in. Let's see whether he can dance as well as he looks," Malfoy ordered imperiously, words drizzling from his mouth in a lazy drawl.

Now, Harry paces restlessly along the length of the dressing-room, trying to work off his excess energy.

"Dan Felton?" A man holding a clipboard pokes his head into the room. "When the song ends, go to the stairs behind the stage and we'll cue you in. When you've got your shirt off, we'll send the snake out. Keep the thong on. Good luck," he says and leaves as abruptly as he entered.

Harry looks at himself in one of the many mirrors studding the walls. He _looks_ exactly like how a stripper should, but deep down, he's _Harry_ — Harry that hates being the centre of attention because he'd practically grown up under the public eye; Harry with two left feet at the Yule Ball; Auror Harry who is more at home chasing criminals down dark alleyways dodging curses left and right rather than in the guise of Stripper Dan, who had to, in less than a minute, perform for a raucous crowd of gay men and dance and take his clothes off and most importantly, look _good_ while doing it-

Harry really wishes that the flock of dainty butterflies inside him would just go away.

He cards his fingers through his black hair, making it stick up even more. As he inhales and exhales heavily, Harry can see the rise and fall of his bare chest and flat stomach through his unbuttoned shirt. All of the strippers were given the same clothes to wear — a simple collared white shirt left open and a black thong.

"You're so hot," Harry says to himself loudly in the mirror, seeing not familiar green eyes but eyes of sparkling blue. "You're so hot that someone wants to drip ice-cream on you and lick it all off. Now go out there in front of a horde of horny men and get.. your... fucking... kit... off," Harry finishes, punching the air rather weakly.

Bloody hell, that was the most depressing pep talk that Harry's ever heard.

The song playing on stage ends; the ensuing silence echoes like a death knell.

With his heart beating like a frantic creature trying to run away, Harry shambles out of the room, mounts the steps, up the stage, towards the crowd, who greet him with whoops and wolf-whistles louder than they'd given any of the other strippers.

Harry shakily steps up to the spotlight, and it's only then that he realises that this is a far, far cry from practising in his room with Bacon. How could he think that that was good enough for this — there are so _many_ eyes on him, including Bacon's, who lies concealed somewhere in the room. The air's thick with anticipation and excitement, causing the butterflies in Harry's belly to mutate into a herd of stampeding centaurs... and somewhere, he can already hear the promising rise of music filtering through his ears, but he just can't seem to move his body-

And right in the centre of the front row sits Malfoy, sharing a table with Matt the redhead. Harry sees Malfoy narrow his eyes, throw his napkin down on the table, as if he's thinking _waste of my time, knew he couldn't be that good-_ and cross his arms, fingers tapping on his upper arm impatiently.

"Come on, Dan, give us what we've all been waiting for! Give us a show!" The presenter encourages, and the crowd cheers in response.

Harry can't stop looking at Malfoy, that sharp, nostalgic flare of competitiveness rearing up in him when Malfoy's lips form that familiar Hogwarts sneer that Harry is so well-acquainted with. Harry wants so much to wipe that stupid, patronising expression off Malfoy's pale pointy face and Harry knows that he's got to _win,_ got to show Malfoy that he's the very best.

"We've got the best music, the best audience, the best dance floor, come _on,_ Dan!" There's a note of panic in the presenter's voice now, and small clusters of said audience begin to murmur amongst themselves.

_Dan._

He's Dan Felton, not Harry Potter. That thought hits him, _wham_ , as hard as the thumping bassline blasting from the speakers.

It's Stripper Dan that's up here, not Auror and Saviour Harry. Cloaked in this web of anonymity, Harry feels the tight knot of anxiety and fear in his stomach loosening. He's Dan- _fucking-_ Felton and he's free to do anything he wants.

He's _free._

New-found confidence blossoms in Harry, galvanising him into action. Harry starts to dance; small movements at first to warm up — gentle shoulder and hip rolls, but that's enough to reclaim the flagging attention of the crowd. The presenter shouts his name and that only emboldens Harry even more — he snaps his fingers, throws his arms high up in the air, slightly bends his knees to exaggerate his rolling hips as they move in smooth circles to the beat of the music. Harry traces his fingers down the side of his face... his throat... right in the middle of his chest, his wandering fingers teasing the crowd by pushing apart half of his shirt, revealing the left side of his bare chest and shoulder — God, Harry can hardly believe that he has it in him to drive the audience _this_ wild — then his hand, with his fingers pointing southward, is ghosting down his abdomen... his abs... going down even more, tips of his fingers resting on the waistband of his thong.

Harry chances a look at Malfoy, whose face is a jigsaw. But he's definitely watching Harry now, and that thought — of having Malfoy's full, undivided attention on his body as he dances and gyrates and moves and thrusts to a room-full of roaring, hot-blooded men — is driving _Harry_ wild.

Feeling especially cheeky, Harry winks at Malfoy and drags his tongue slowly across the bottom of his upper lip, all the while locking eyes with Malfoy. Harry feels a hot surge of annoyance as Malfoy's face doesn't change. Snarling under his breath, Harry strides across the stage, his steps matching the rhythm of the song. The music's picking up now, both in volume and speed, and Harry syncs himself to the change — head thrown back and nodding to the beat, eyes closed, fingers buried in his messy hair, bottom lip popping out between teeth in a playful pout, wandering palms pressed against hips moving with increased urgency, almost of their own accord — _this_ is what Bacon means to give up, surrender to the music and let his body take over.

This is what it means to be _free._

The shirt barely hangs off Harry as he grinds his way back towards Malfoy. 

"Take it off already, Dan!" Someone shouts from the crowd, and Harry grins predatorily at Malfoy.

_Poker faces like that should be illegal,_ Harry frowns when the other man's face barely flickers, although grey eyes tail Harry's every movement. Harry hooks his thumbs on the waistband of his thong, looks towards his left shoulder and rotates it, letting the left side of his shirt fall down to his elbow, exposing tan skin and muscular arms. Harry does the same on the other side, turns his wrists behind his back to break free of the shirt, twirls it hard over his head and...

...throws it right smack into Malfoy's face.

There's a stunned silence. Uneasiness starts to gather in Harry, but not for long, because the crowd explodes into a firework of cheers. Harry laughs loudly as his shirt slowly slides off Malfoy's face, which is a picture of utter disbelief. Beside him, Matt hides a guffaw behind his cocktail.

Merlin, all of this, and the snake hasn't even appeared yet.

Harry turns and gives the crowd a good look at his shoulders, well-toned back and arse as he swirls his hips and swings his arms to the music. Since he's facing the back of the stage, Harry sees the snake coming — a boomslang with green scales that shimmer when the light catches them the right way. Needless to say, the boomslang is a highly venomous snake and Harry's dancing falters when he sees the harsh black serial numbers magicked across the snake's neck. 

Harry reminds himself not to speak to the snake — his cover will be blown if anyone, especially Malfoy, sees him talking to it; but on further inspection, Harry sees that there's no point — based on the de-fanged boomslang's glazed-over eyes, it's too drugged to respond anyway. Nevertheless, it still winds its way up Harry's body when he extends an arm to it.

The crowd is quieter, waiting and watching to see how Harry would deal with having a snake twisting itself all over his body. Would this challenge mess up an otherwise-perfect audition?

Malfoy's leaning forward on his chair now, an elbow resting on crossed knees while he studies Harry with an intensity that makes Harry's cock twitch. Malfoy taps a finger on pursed cherry-pink lips, deep in concentration. Bacon's words come rushing back to Harry _the most important thing is your chemistry with the snake, that's why the club's called Serpentes, after all-_

If that's the case, Harry shouldn't have a problem at all.

Grinning confidently and with barely a flicker of hesitation and apprehension in his movements and facial expression, Harry moves his body in slow, sinuous strokes; lazily painting an infinity sign with his hips to the music, which had slowed when the snake appeared. Most of the snake's body is coiled around Harry's arm, and he holds the snake up to his own face, leaning in to it, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his teeth as the snake's tongue flicks out at the exact same moment.

The snake bobs its head, matching the hypnotic sway of Harry's body while it meanders down Harry's body, following the same path that Harry's own hands had taken just minutes ago. Harry tosses his head back and closes his eyes, displaying his fearlessness of the snake while he rocks his body side to side, gently encouraging the snake along on its way. When the snake finally slides off entirely, the music gradually fades away.

A pause, and then the audience erupts into raucous shouts of approval and applause. Matt's clapping, but Malfoy isn't; instead, the side of his mouth curves up slightly, throwing Harry a lingering, appreciative look under half-lidded eyes. Malfoy fishes a cherry from his cocktail, pops it into his mouth and sucks _very_ pointedly on it.

With his face suddenly engulfed in a hot blush, Harry bows and practically runs off the stage back to the dressing-room, where he strips off the thong and pulls on proper clothes. His ears are still ringing from the music and excitement's still fizzing in his bloodstream as if someone's popped open a bottle of champagne in him.

_I felt free._

Harry knows he fucking nailed it, and this is proven when Malfoy and Matt enter the room a mere fifteen minutes later.

"Matthew Taylor, choreographer," Matt introduces himself, and Harry grasps his hand.

"Draco Malfoy," Malfoy says, stretching a hand out, and Harry suddenly thinks of _my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, you don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort-_  

A heartbeat passes, Malfoy frowns, and Harry quickly shakes Malfoy's hand. He notices that Malfoy didn't bother introducing himself as the owner, as if Harry was _supposed_ to know that naturally. 

"You're hired," Matt says straight off the bat. "Pretty foregone conclusion, judging from the crowd. Rocky start, but I reckon it was just nerves. Draco told me that you said you didn't bring your references, but... it was your first time stripping, wasn't it?"

Harry looks away. "Yeah. Does this disqualify me?"

"Usually we require references, but after watching you with the snake..." Matt smiles. "You dance... almost as if you can talk to it. You're a natural with them — half of the other applicants could barely look at their snakes and the others treated them as they were dead weight. You danced _with_ the snake, and that's exactly what we're looking for." Matt glances briefly at Harry's body. "That's some pretty decent dancing for your first try, but you'll need to be better. That won't be a problem, we'll sort you out. Right, follow me, and we're going to settle the paperwork — non-disclosure things, payment and the such."

Matt leaves, and Harry's about to follow him, but Malfoy reaches over and grabs him by the wrist, pulling him close and he smells just like cherries and vanilla, reminding Harry of rich, decadent _dessert-_

"I'll be dancing later, if you'd like to watch," Malfoy says huskily. 

Harry gulps. "Yeah. I'd... I'd love to watch you."

Malfoy smirks, satisfied, and leans in _even_ closer. In response, a thrum of pleasure shivers down Harry's spine. "Welcome to Serpentes," Malfoy murmurs, his voice as light as silk, fingertips grazing the delta of veins under Harry's wrist.

Harry Potter is now a bona fide stripper.

* * *

 

This is why they say Draco Malfoy's one of the best in the business.

Harry's been half-hard since Malfoy took off his Slytherin tie and black shirt — _God,_ Harry can almost _hear_ the whisper of silk leaving skin. There's something in the way the other man coordinates every part of his slim body with the sultry music as he slinks with the hypnotising grace of the well-practised — all slicked-back and layered blond hair; sharp collarbones and jutting hips; shoulders thrown back; acres and _acres_ of pale skin interrupted only by Malfoy's Dark Mark, Azkaban serial numbers and a network of healed-over scars on his abdomen — a twinge of guilt slashes through Harry — but Malfoy wears all of these blemishes like a king wearing a jewelled crown.

Not taking his eyes off Malfoy, Harry leans his back against the bar counter, reaches a hand out and gropes around for his pint. His fingers stumble on cool glass, but grabs empty air as his pint crashes down to the floor.

"Sorry!" Harry turns around properly and shoots an apologetic look at Jacob. With a long-suffering, yet good-natured sigh, he repairs the glass and Vanishes the mess. While he goes about preparing a new drink, Harry sneaks a quick glance at the other patrons — they're all watching Malfoy, bottles of alcohol neglected at the bar — one of the men's trying to take a pull from his Firewhiskey but he misses the lip of the bottle entirely, splashing Firewhiskey all over his lap.

"I've got a lot to learn," Harry says, grinning at Jacob when he returns with a fresh pint.

"Don't stress yourself out. He's been doing this for two years. Started out as a stripper, and now? Owns the whole bloody thing. A pretty quick rise up to the top, if you ask me. A bit _too_ quickly," Jacob says. Normally, Harry would have questioned Jacob further about his last comment, but Harry's brain isn't working normally because he's turned his attention back to Malfoy, who's sliding a palm down the left side of his waist, thumb and forefinger pinching the top of his black briefs, pushing them down just a few inches, and if Harry manages to snatch a peek of Malfoy’s cock...

Malfoy unleashes a heartbreaker smile, his full strawberry-pink mouth pouting as he wiggles a finger teasingly, as if rebuking the crowd. A groan of disappointment rings out from the audience; Malfoy chuckles while he tugs his briefs back up _lips like an angel but hips like a porn star-_ , pale lashes batting in front of grey eyes smouldering hot and midnight sultry.

Malfoy abruptly drops to his knees, running his hands all over himself, his hips still swirling in figure eights. Harry almost chokes on his beer as the head of a black mamba appears from between Malfoy's spread legs. It's a sight hot enough to make Harry palm his hard cock briefly over his trousers — the stark contrast of the entirely black snake spiralling up Malfoy's pale half-naked body, its head disappearing periodically behind Malfoy's back as it begins to twists itself continuously around Malfoy's trunk and shoulders. Malfoy performs a few body waves, urging the snake on. As the mamba ascends, Malfoy drops a hand near his crotch and places it over the snake, stroking slowly, as if he's _wanking_ on stage-

Harry rubs his cock roughly, _fuck_ , the pressure in his pants is driving him wild because he's imagining his own tongue tracing Malfoy's body just like the snake; Harry desperately wants to know how Malfoy sounds like when he's touching himself-

Malfoy turns his head to the side, and the snake's tongue flicks towards his Azkaban tattoo once before continuing its descent, but now down to Malfoy's left arm, coiling around it exactly just like how the snake in the Dark Mark displays itself. Dropping his left hand on the stage, Malfoy turns — presenting his side view — and sinks to all fours, head thrown back, back arched and that sweet, sweet arse in the air. Harry's filthy mind instantly fills in the blanks; Harry's on his knees behind Malfoy, grabbing his hips while he pounds into Malfoy hard. What does Malfoy sound like when he’s being fucked like this? Is he a screamer? God, Harry hopes he is — because he wants so badly to make Malfoy scream his name all night long.

Malfoy shoots the crowd a feral grin which melts into a moan when the black mamba slithers down his arse, loops around his crotch and makes its way back up, pausing momentarily when Malfoy stands up. It settles heavily across Malfoy's outstretched arms, shoulders and neck; at last, the music fades, both snake and man bow to thunderous whoops and disappear back-stage. 

Dazed, Harry closes his eyes briefly and swivels his stool to face the bar. As he nurses his pint, he feels his surroundings swimming back into focus, world clicking back into normalcy as though he has just been released from a long spell. He polishes off his beer and nods to Jacob, who winks back at him before busying himself with fresh orders.

Harry goes to the loo and splashes cold water on his face, trying to steady his thumping heart. He's here on Auror business, Harry reminds himself sternly, chasing all Inappropriate Malfoy Thoughts away. No matter how good Malfoy looks on the dance floor, Malfoy is still a suspect under investigation.

_Harry could not get involved._

* * *

 

**/tbc**


	2. Duet

It's just past midnight at Serpentes and the club is heaving. Gone are the posh chairs and tables with fancy menus, all cleared at the stroke of midnight to make room for a huge dance floor. This is what Harry's used to — strobe lights, disco balls, throngs of men rubbing up against each other feverishly to the pounding music. Strippers and snakes gyrate not only on the stage, but also on smaller makeshift stages and in cages hanging from the ceiling, the suspensions strengthened by charms.

Harry gazes up to one of the cages and waves to Matt. The redhead waves back, his strapped-on angel wings trembling as he dances. It's a veritable smorgasbord of good-looking men, and Harry has to keep reminding himself that he's here on a job and not to pull.

The past four days have sped by, Harry recalls, stifling a yawn. He's been busy with dancing lessons from both the strippers _and_ Bacon (who had used his tail to wipe an imaginary tear and said proudly, "Oh, my little boy is all grown up now," when an exuberant Harry had returned home from the auditions); and updating his colleagues (Parvati had cheekily asked for photos of Harry stripping) about the case. Harry had provided an inventory of all the performing snakes, but unfortunately the strippers didn't have direct access to the room where the snakes were kept; instead the snakes were simply laid out in another holding area where they could choose which ones they preferred.

Harry had told Parvati that he'd explore the two suspicious rooms soon, but Harry can't shake off his constant bone-deep weariness. His sleep cycle had been well and truly disrupted — leaving the club at three or even four in the morning, tumbling into bed and waking up late morning to pop by the Ministry or have lunch with Ron and Hermione, having brought forward their dinner dates to accommodate Harry's new schedule. Sometimes, he'd have the luxury of a nap before reporting to Serpentes at eleven pm. 

Maybe he'll have a chance tonight, Harry reckons. He looks at his watch — it's only one-thirty. Harry's about to move away from the swelling crowd...

...but Malfoy's looking right at him.

Malfoy's standing on a raised platform a short distance away from Matt's cage, but Malfoy isn't dancing. With his elbows resting casually on the railing of the platform, Malfoy looks down on the dance floor with an air of arrogance like a king surveying his land. Upon feeling grey eyes caress his body, Harry thrusts his hips sharply in Malfoy's direction.

They've been eye-fucking for three nights in a row now — the first two nights found Malfoy checking Harry out from the bar while he nursed his green cocktails and cherries; the third night Malfoy had been dancing with another man but his eyes had been on Harry the entire time. Somewhere along the way, Harry had rationalised that he could get valuable information from Malfoy by getting close to him, but it was dangerous just how _close_ Harry wanted to be...

His original intention of leaving the dance floor abandoned, Harry locks his eyes provocatively with Malfoy's as he dances. In response, Malfoy smiles and leans over the railing, resting his chin on his palm while he watches Harry dance only for him.

Suddenly, he finds his view of Malfoy cut off — a blond man is standing directly in front of Harry. He blinks in surprise and steps back, stumbling slightly when he feels another man behind him, running his warm hands all over Harry's biceps. He cranes his neck to look at Malfoy and feels inordinately pleased when Malfoy looks thunderous.

Perhaps a bit of jealousy won't hurt, Harry thinks playfully. With that, Harry throws himself fully in his present company. He rests his wrists on the blond's shoulders and grinds on him, biting back a groan when the man behind him steps closer and rests his erection against Harry's arse.

"We've seen you dance and we want to take you home... together. You up for that?" The blond offers between nibbles of Harry's earlobe as the three of them rub up against each other.

_Oh._

Harry's wondering how to refuse politely when a pale forearm inserts itself between Harry and the blond man. Malfoy's at his side, both arms circling Harry's front and back possessively, cutting the other two men off.

"Sorry boys. He's off the menu tonight," Malfoy says lightly, but there's no denying the undercurrent of danger lacing his voice.

The two men scowl at Malfoy, but back off.

"Thanks," Harry says, breath hitching. This is the first time they've spoken since the night of the auditions. Anticipation's rising in Harry like a high-speed elevator.

"I wasn't sure if my efforts would be welcomed. You seemed to be enjoying yourself," Malfoy says with a dramatic sigh. "They're getting bored of me. That's why it's always good to see fresh blood, as long as they don't forget who's... on _top._ "

Harry grins indecently at the innuendo, looks down at Malfoy — this is a nice change, being taller than him — and leans in extra close before speaking.

"No one can ever get bored of seeing you dance."

Malfoy looks pleased. "Dance with me then, won't you, Dan?" Malfoy purrs, a note of longing tugging on Dan's name. Hearing Malfoy use his fake name makes Harry even bolder.

"I'll do anything you want, Draco," Harry says, licking his dry lips.

"Anything?" Malfoy asks, his eyes wide with feigned innocence.

"Anything," Harry hisses in return, lust flooding his system while he watches Malfoy moving instinctively to the music, but this time he's so close, close enough to _touch_. As Harry dances with Malfoy, he notices a glimmer of metal on his left ear-lobe — upon closer inspection, Harry realises that it's a silver earring shaped like a snake.

"You look even better up close," Harry murmurs, wrapping his arms around Malfoy's waist and pulling him closer.

"My, you've got a wicked tongue."

"You should see what it can do," Harry says without thinking, and immediately blushes.

"Do you know why we picked you, even though you had no experience?" Malfoy says hotly, running his palms all over Harry's chest. He doesn't wait for Harry to reply. "Because you've got a natural modesty, an innocence... _shyness,_ even. That quality is rare to find in someone with a body like yours." Malfoy drops his voice. "I find that especially... _alluring._ "

"Let me buy you a drink," Harry offers, words spilling out of his mouth in a hurried tumble. Anything, anything to stop them dancing, because Harry was at the verge of losing whatever little self-control he had left. "You cleared me for the auditions, and I probably owe you another one too, for throwing my shirt at you."

"I won't say no to that," Malfoy says and leads Harry to the bar. Jacob greets them cheerily and immediately starts preparing their drinks.

"Would you be free later to join a few of us at the pub? Matt, Jacob and some of the other dancers will finish their shifts anytime now. It's a tradition to buy new strippers a drink," Malfoy asks, nodding at the bartender when he arrives with Malfoy's green cocktail and Harry's Firewhiskey.

"What tradition? I haven't heard of any- _oh!_ " Jacob immediately falls silent when Malfoy raises his eyebrows at him meaningfully. "Oh yes. Long, rich tradition of asking good-looking new strippers to the pub. Club unity and all that," Jacob says and wipes the counter down, fighting to keep a cheeky grin off his face.

"Sure. I don't have anything else to do anyway," Harry lies, feeling guilty when he thinks about the two unexplored rooms at the back. Well, but forging camaraderie with fellow strippers, especially the club's owner, was terribly important too, wasn't it, for the case?

"Oh? No one to... go home to?" Malfoy says casually, lowering his lashes.

"No. I'm single," Harry says, taking the bull by the horns.

"Single and... looking?"

"Looking, yeah. _Definitely_ looking," Harry whispers, eyes trained on Malfoy's cherry-glazed lips... lips that slowly tug up in a Cheshire cat's grin when Malfoy hears Harry's answer.

* * *

 It's four in the morning when they exit the pub.

"He's fucking sloshed, as usual. Lightweight," Jacob grins and punches Malfoy lightly on the arm, who sways on the spot. Harry quickly steps around Jacob to grab Malfoy before he falls over.

"Well, guess you're on get-Draco-home duty tonight," Jacob rattles off Malfoy's address and winks at Harry. "Look after him, won't you?" With that, Jacob Apparates, followed by the others after they've wished him a good night.

Well. This is a development — Harry's standing in the middle of the street with his arms full of drunk Malfoy.

"Hey. _Hey,_ Draco. Hold tight, alright? We're gonna Apparate," Harry says, shaking Malfoy.

"Appa- _what?_ " Malfoy giggles, peering up at Harry.

Gosh, he's cute when he's drunk.

Harry quickly nudges away Inappropriate Malfoy Thoughts, Apparates them to Malfoy's front door and looks expectantly at Malfoy...

...who hugs the door and happily slumps down to the ground.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy," Harry sighs. It seems as though the other blokes usually take Malfoy home after pub nights, so it would make sense that a key would be hidden somewhere... Harry tries a Summoning charm, but comes up empty. He looks around for possible hiding places before spotting a snake earring nestled behind a potted plant. Harry pulls it out and taps his wand on it to uncover the concealment charm, revealing a key.

"All this just 'cos you don't know when to stop drinking," Harry mutters and swings the door open. He casts a _Lumos,_ spells his wand to levitate in the air and half-drags, half-lifts Malfoy into the house.

"Where's your bedroom?" Harry huffs.

"Bedroom. Bed," Malfoy's eyes focus on Harry with renewed interest. "With you? Oh _yes_ ," Malfoy moans and attempts to hump Harry, but ends up thrusting his hips into thin air. Nevertheless, with the promising mention of _bed,_ Malfoy stumbles forward and drags Harry along. They crash into a bedroom and Malfoy immediately pulls Harry towards his bed.

 _Fuck,_ Harry exhales heavily. He's hard, but he knows that he can't do anything, no matter how much he wants to, oh _fuck_ how much he wants to-

"Your hair..." Malfoy reaches up and runs a hand through Harry's hair. "Like someone. Someone from shhh... shkul... _school_. S'all black and messy. You should know him 'cos _e'ryone_ knows him." His dreamy expression retreats, giving way to a familiar sneer.

Harry quickly beats a hasty retreat. He has to get out of here _now,_ before he does something that will complicate matters immensely; something like ripping off Malfoy's clothes and fucking him right in his own bed. Harry enters the kitchen and splashes cold water on his face. While he rustles around the cabinets for a Hangover Potion, Harry recalls the single piece of valuable information that he had gleaned in the pub.

Malfoy isn't the true owner of Serpentes.

 _"Sometimes, we're not even sure if Draco really owns the place! He's always dancing when he's there,"_ Alex, one of the younger strippers, had remarked.

Harry had been watching Malfoy's reaction — for a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, something had frozen in Malfoy's face — before smoothing over.

 _"Just because I own the club doesn't mean I can't dance,"_ Malfoy shrugged casually — a little bit too casually — " _I'm simply good at multi-tasking,"_ he had said before firmly steering the conversation elsewhere. 

Call it instincts, gut feeling, or perhaps you could chalk it up to Harry's experience from watching Malfoy throughout their Hogwarts years, but it was at that exact moment when Harry had known that Malfoy was lying about owning Serpentes. 

As Harry pours a glass of water for Malfoy, he wonders why he feels relieved at this revelation. _You don't want to arrest Malfoy, because a part of you wants to believe that he's changed._

But _has_ he changed?

Malfoy's still sarcastic, witty and snarky with an attitude that still makes Harry want to punch him in the face, but Harry can't ignore the genuine affection that Malfoy directed towards his colleagues tonight. Malfoy had asked after Michael's wife and two kids, laughing with the others when Michael told them stories about his daughter's first day at pre-school.

Harry had never heard Malfoy laugh like that before — as bright and happy as a shot of summer.

There was once when Alex had let slip, with downcast eyes and an air of embarrassment, that he was having difficulties paying rent and his mother's medical bills because he was the sole breadwinner of his family, including his little sister who had just started Hogwarts.

" _I'm not asking for a pay rise or anything, Draco. Merlin knows you've helped me out enough already. It's great fun working with y'all, the pay's the best, and you've always let me work extra shifts when I need it."_

Malfoy might or might not have changed, he might or might not be implicated heavily in the snake trafficking scheme, but Harry still needs proof because he's here on a case, _dammit_! Harry places the Potion beside the glass of water on the kitchen table. He makes his way to the bedroom, intending to check if Malfoy's alright.

And then he hears it — his name, not Dan's name, but _Harry,_ curling like smoke and sex from Malfoy's throat. Harry freezes a few steps away from the bedroom. He _knows_ what's happening, hell, he's imagined it before, but to _watch-_

He hovers uselessly near the bedroom door.

"Harry, please," Malfoy cries out urgently and then there's the sound of a zipper being undone, a rustle of clothes — "God, _yes,_ Harry, touch me."

Fuck, he loves the way his name sounds on Malfoy's tongue.

It might not even be him in the first place, Harry rationalises, laughing weakly. Someone from Hogwarts with black and messy hair called Harry isn't much to go on, is it? Malfoy's met plenty of men, surely that description couldn't mean him, _Harry,_ right? _Right?_

"Saint _Potter._ C'mere and we'll see how much of a saint y' are with your cock in my mouth!"

...

Well, _shit._

His cock finally getting the better of him, Harry peeks into the bedroom and is rewarded with the brain-meltingly hottest sight that he's ever seen.

Malfoy's wearing nothing but his shirt with the hem twisted around his hips; long, long legs spread apart invitingly on the rumpled bedsheets, toes clenched in pleasure, hand pumping up and down on that delicious cock, Harry wants to shove that hand away and take Malfoy in his mouth-

He's never seen Malfoy like this — wild, wanton and a walking wet dream; his trademark control thrown off like a cloak, all because he's thinking of Harry.

And it's driving Harry _mad_.

Before he knows what he's doing, Harry's undone his own jeans and pulled his cock out. It's not _his_ cock, it's Dan's, and it's fucking weird, wanking with another guy's prick, but Harry can't care anymore 'cos there's Malfoy looking good enough to eat and wanking to _him_ while Harry watches-

"Wonder what you'll do if you see me like this..." Malfoy all but _whimpers_ — Harry's fist pumps even harder — Malfoy props himself up on his elbows, tongue caught between his teeth as he looks at his own hand stroking himself.

"If only y' knew 'bout this... I'm such a Slytherin _slut_ for you, but this don't change anything, fuck no," Malfoy turns over and misses his pillow entirely — instead his body ends up sprawled diagonally across the bed, elbows balanced precariously on the edge of the bed and his head leaning over while he continues to wank, and Harry's eyes instantly latch onto Malfoy's bobbing arse that's so ready for _him_ -

"Still hate y’ so much, Potter. Hatin' you so h-h-hard right now, hatin' you with your b-b-big hard cock up my arse... fuck _yes!_ " Harry watches as Malfoy's entire body tenses up, watches as Malfoy shrieks Harry's name and comes all over the sheets.

Apparently, Malfoy _is_ a screamer in bed.

Harry loves it when they scream.

_Fuck._

Harry pushes himself away from the door and slumps down against the wall, a fist jammed in his mouth to silence his own cries. Eyes shut tight, a few more pulls on his cock, fuelled by a parade of pornographic Malfoy images prancing in his mind, just a _bit_ more, bloody _fuck nothing's ever felt as good as this before_ -, a hard bite on his knuckle and he's shooting his load all over Malfoy's living room floor.

A few moments tick by before Harry can catch his breath and think coherently. It starts off with "that's fucking hot, but that's not how my cock looks like," — "I just wanked to Malfoy and loved it," — "Malfoy? _Malfoy?!"_ — before it quickly goes downhill — "Malfoy, under investigation," — "And I just came all over his floor," — ending with "Fuck, this is definitely not in the Auror's Handbook of Proper Code and Conduct," and his head in his hands.

Harry quickly pulls himself together and Vanishes the mess on the floor. He peers in the bedroom. Malfoy's lying on his back, fast asleep. He's still sprawled diagonally in bed, his head hanging off the edge, exposing his pale throat. Harry considers placing the water and Potion on his bedside table, but Harry really, _really_ doesn't trust himself anywhere near a half-naked Malfoy who has just proudly outed himself as Harry's very own Slytherin slut.

That's why Harry gulps, reluctantly turns his head away from the view and exits the apartment.

* * *

"Did Draco get home alright last night?" Jacob asks when Harry slides onto a bar stool.

"Yeah, he did," Harry quickly looks down at his hands to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks. "Er, does he remember anything when he's that drunk?"

"Nah, and that's a good thing, 'cos he gets really randy when he's drunk, but we just chuck him in bed and leave him to it. He'll be fine in the morning."

Harry's glad that Jacob's too distracted with a flurry of orders to ask any more questions. He waits until the bartender's done before speaking again, choosing his words and his tone carefully.

"Draco's a bit young to own a club like this, isn't it?"

Jacob nods while he polishes a glass. "We've wondered about that, yeah, but we've learnt not to ask him about it anymore. Just like how the strippers don't ask questions about where the snakes come from, no matter how bruised the animals look sometimes," Jacob says, shuddering slightly. "But there's this bloke..."

Jacob pauses.

Harry schools his features into innocent curiosity.

"I guess you'll know sooner or later. There's a... _fellow_ that comes in every two weeks. Never watches any of the dances, never orders a drink, just comes in and goes straight to the back-stage area. Draco always knows about his arrival, yet he never mentions this mysterious bloke, even though Draco's the only one that this fellow talks to. We think he's the real owner, although if he is, we don't know why it has to be kept so quiet."

"Oh. Er... could he be Draco's boyfriend?"

"Can't be. They don't act like a couple, even though they look rather matching together. Well, speak of the devil," Jacob says, his eyes flickering to the door. Harry twists around in his seat to look.

It's obvious that Malfoy's been waiting. Harry notes the stiff way Malfoy stands against the wall, his posture ram-rod straight, arms folded tightly across his chest and the fingers of his right hand tapping impatiently on his left upper arm. He pushes himself off the wall at once when he sees a tall, blond man with a long nose and sharp chin entering the club. Malfoy stalks towards the other man and even from this distance, he can see the deep frown on Malfoy's face, the agitated swipe of Malfoy's hand cutting across the air as he talks — Harry knows that Malfoy rarely shows such blatant emotion, so he has to be _really_ upset.

They're moving towards the back rooms, and Harry would bet that they're going to the secret room that Bacon sketched out in the map that very first night. Harry turns back to the counter, counts five seconds in his head before making his excuses and leaving the bar. He follows the two blond heads amidst the crowd, waits another five seconds for them to enter the back of the club before stepping forward. Harry easily slips through the bouncers this time, nodding at them and goes towards the dressing room. He smiles at a pair of strippers, waits for them to pass before pulling out his Invisibility Cloak.

Harry's close to the room and narrowly avoids barrelling into another pair of bouncers — apparently dismissed — by pressing himself against the wall. Harry rounds the corner just in time to see Malfoy and his companion disappear into the office. He positions himself a good distance away from the door in case it opens unexpectedly and pulls out his Extendable Ears.

He hears Malfoy's agitated voice. "One snake wrapped around Alex too tightly! Along with the other incidents the last time... what's happening? I won't have the dancers getting hurt again. Either your other... _people_ aren't drugging the snakes well enough-"

"Ministry's cracking down on the Potions and the snakes," the other man says shortly. Harry racks his brain to match the voice and the face, but he draws a blank — he hasn't seen any case file on this man before, nor met him in real life before tonight.

"We suspect Serpentes is under investigation," the man continues.

A brief silence ensues; Harry can hear Malfoy breathing heavily from his nose.

"Apparently we've lost a snake in the last raid. Smith and Jackson tried to hide that from me, but I found out anyway. They saw Harry Potter on the scene, and before they escaped, they think they saw the snake with Potter. I've heard that you're rather... well-acquainted with him."

_Shit._

"Harry _Potter?! Potter?!_ "Malfoy's words burst forth, as sharp and sudden as a volley of darts.

"And everyone knows he's a Parseltongue."

"So now what? I expect to be hauled to the Ministry for questioning any day now, because this damned club is in my name? You _know_ that I've got nothing to do with all the dirty business you get involved in," Malfoy's voice spirals into a shout. "I'm not going back to the Ministry! There's no way I'll get a fair trial with my past!"

"Then maybe you shouldn't have got involved."

"Like I had a choice! You wouldn't give me a job if I didn't agree to your terms, and I had no other way out! My mother-"

"Get ready to move," the other man brusquely cuts Malfoy off in mid-sentence. "The minute we get news, we run. In the meantime, up security, sweep the other rooms and destroy whatever you can, especially whatever's in _there_ ," he says, and Harry knows immediately that he has to sneak into the room as soon as possible and get his hands on whatever _that_ is.

"No, I'm not running. My mother's not well!" Malfoy sounds desperate now.

"You can't stay. You know too much. Listen _carefully_ to me now, Draco," Up till now, the man's voice has stayed calm and controlled, but now, Harry can hear the danger hanging like glass shards over the thinly-veiled threat, "Either you leave with us, or we ship you back to your dear mother in three different boxes." There's a squeak of a chair, like someone's leaning back. "Have I made myself clear?"

The man sounds very pleased with himself.

A pause.

"Crystal," Malfoy grits out, and Harry barely has time to pull the Ears back and make sure he's still secure underneath his Cloak before Malfoy yanks the door open and storms out. Harry tries to peer inside the room before the door closes, but all he can see is a shock of white-blond hair, a stark contrast to the darkened surroundings.

Harry turns his head towards Malfoy, who has stopped suddenly in the corridor.

"Potter," Malfoy snarls, his grey eyes narrowed with an intensity that Harry has not seen in a very long time. Just seeing that expression on Malfoy's face ignites something deep within Harry, but he doesn't have time to dissect his feelings before that intensity melts.

 _"Potter,"_ Malfoy says again, _softly_ , this time. He stands there for a few moments, deep in thought. As if shaking himself from a spell, Malfoy hurries off, his shoes clacking harshly like castanets against the bright, polished floor.

* * *

  _"Parvati, we've been chasing the wrong person. Malfoy owns the club only in name, he's not the one that we're looking for. Check the club's history, we want someone with a lot of connections, criminal experience, maybe history with a gang? I don't have a name, but I know he's roughly the same height as Malfoy and blond. It's not much to go on, but I know how he looks like. Narrow them down and show me photos."_

* * *

"D'you want to be Disillusioned instead?" Harry offers yet again.

"You know how much I dislike it — I cannot move properly when I am under the charm. Not like you or any of your dunderhead _friends_ care," Bacon replies sulkily.

Harry sighs. When he had been undercover and since Bacon had already done his best to scout Serpentes, he had loaned the snake out to other Aurors for concealment and tracking in other cases.

Bacon had not been best pleased about that.

"Please don't call my colleagues _dunderheads_ ," Harry mutters and wraps the Cloak tighter around them when one of the guards yawns and stretches. "They've been er... pretty stuck on the Rogers case, and they _really_ needed your help," Harry says in a placating tone.

Bacon considers this for a moment.

"Well, since you put it like that..." Bacon says, tossing his head and puffing himself up rather importantly.

Harry and Bacon are crouched low at the opposite end of the corridor — which is flooded entirely with light — leading to the office. They watch as the guards double-check the wards and walk down the length of the corridor towards Harry. He presses himself closer against the wall when they turn the corner and disappear.

They only have fifteen minutes before the next pair of guards enter the scene. Under Bacon's watchful eye — he had lain concealed in the nearest pool of darkness for a few nights and noted the pattern and duration of the guards' shifts. This was the best time to strike, they decided, because the next guards were always late by fifteen minutes.

Harry hurries down the corridor, casts a Silencing Charm around the lamp closest to the office before blasting the lamp. At once, Bacon slithers to the shadows, his face trained towards the opposite end of the corridor.

Harry sets to disabling the wards — they're tricky and time-consuming, but nothing that a fully-fledged Auror can't deal with. He looks at his watch and speeds up his movements; he's spent half the time on the wards and this time, the guards might not even take fifteen minutes. He steps over the threshold, conjures a ball of light to follow him around while he sweeps the room with a few diagnostic spells, not feeling surprised when they reveal nothing.

He starts first with the desk, but the search is fruitless. Next, he turns his attention to the walls, the curtains-

Hang on.

Bacon had said that there were no windows here, so why would there be curtains?

Excitement thrums in his blood as Harry flings the curtains open. He can feel a thick web of magic here — protective and concealment charms potent enough to escape his general diagnostic spells. Harry starts to untangle the layers of spells, and he's finishing up when he hears Bacon's hisses emitting through the gap under the door.

He must have sensed the faint vibrations of the approaching guards both in the air and on the ground. It was time, Harry knew, for him to slip on the Cloak, exit the office, grab Bacon and leave.

But he can't stop now, not when he's so close.

It's always like this, isn't it, ever since the War? Harry and his friends hatch beautifully-laid plans...

 ...which go to shit eventually.

Ignoring Bacon's warnings, which are increasing in frequency and volume, Harry continues working furiously on the charms, and it isn't long before he's unearthed a safe-

Harry's heart sinks when he registers the explosive safe.

Harry hasn't seen this type of safe often in the field, but he knows that the only way to unlock it is with a seven-digit key-code. One wrong try with the key-code, and everything in the vicinity will blow sky-high. He can't do anything that would endanger the many lives in the club.

With the sound of footsteps and muffled voices amplified in the still air of the office, Harry swiftly undoes his own spellwork and returns the safe to its original hiding place. He destroys the ball of light, crouches down right beside the door and huddles beneath the Invisibility Cloak, his wand at the ready.

He can't get out without the guards noticing. It sounds like there's a scuffle outside, and Harry waves his wand over a portion of the door, letting him see through it. Bacon's taking on the two guards simultaneously; his powerful tail looping around the wand of one of the guards to catapult it to the middle of the corridor. Bacon focuses on the other guard as the first guard stumbles to retrieve his wand. Hissing, the snake narrowly dodges a curse and when the guard's back is turned, Harry surreptitiously slips out of the office and closes the door behind him. He aims a Trip Jinx at the guard and blasts apart two more lamps, successfully taking the attention of the guards away from them.

Bacon conceals himself in the shadows and Harry, secure under the Invisibility Cloak, grabs hold of him. They're just about to flee when Malfoy arrives.

"What's going on here?" Malfoy demands, absorbing the scene.

"There's a snake on the loose. It's not one of ours — it's not Marked."

Harry squeezes his eyes shut when he sees Malfoy stare at the blown lights fastened high up on the walls — a snake couldn't have done that by itself.

"Come on, then. If there's a snake on the loose, I'll need you to help me find it."

"But it's still around here! I don't know how it's hiding, but we didn't see it leave."

"I said _come on_! It can't have gone far," Malfoy insists in a tone that Harry knows very well, because Malfoy sounds exactly like he's ordering Crabbe and Goyle around. 

The two goons share a look, glance at the general vicinity where Bacon and Harry are huddled up and shrug. They follow Malfoy out of the corridor.

Harry lets out a sigh of relief.

* * *

"Who was that? Draco Malfoy?" Bacon asks with mounting excitement. "The biped you went to school with, the one that I remind you of, according to Hermione?"

Harry sighs, pausing in rifling through files on his desk in the empty Auror office.

"Yes, that's him. Could you just..." Harry says, grasping Bacon with both hands. He lifts the snake from his table and dumps him unceremoniously on his chair, much to Bacon's displeasure.

But the snake is determined.

"Well, since he's so much like me, then I approve of him!" Bacon shouts, climbing up the table again and splaying his long body across piles of papers.

Harry throws his hands up in surrender.

"You can't go around disapproving or approving the men in my life, Bacon!"

Bacon sniffs. "Of course I can! This Draco is much better than anyone you've brought home-"

"For the last time, I am not dating him!"

"But you want to!" Bacon insists, his eyes sharpening. "He looks fantastic, just your type!"

Harry thinks back to some of his ex-boyfriends, which had never lasted long enough, come to think about it.

"Rob looked fantastic too!"

"His eyes were too close together, and you realised that too _after_ I told you about it!"

"Craig?"

"He was a worshipper. You _hate_ worshippers."

"What about David?"

"He was terrible in coitus, and _you know it_!"

Harry blushes angrily.

"I told you to stop watching! And stop using the word coitus, it's bloody _weird_!"

Bacon simply pushes himself upright. "Anyone who's scared of snakes has no place in your life," he declares.

"Well, you can't blame them, can you, when they wake up the morning after to _see a snake that's about to eat their face_? You can't do that to every man that you disapprove of!" Harry points out. He still remembers how David had screamed when he had seen the gaping maw of Bacon — all red throat and gleaming long fangs dripping with venom — first thing in the morning in Harry's bed. David had immediately grabbed his clothes and ran out butt-naked, throwing a _don't call me, Harry, I'll call you-_ over his shoulder while he fled.

"It's not my fault that your standards are as good as dried snake dung!" Bacon shouts back.

Harry closes his eyes, yanks off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. "We are not having this conversation in the middle of my office."

Bacon huffs, but stands down and slithers to a corner of Harry's table. In a reconciliatory gesture, he nudges a cup of coffee towards Harry with his snout. The snake coils his long, heavy body up and lapses into repose, but not before looking at Harry shrewdly.

"I just think that this Draco person is worth a shot."

* * *

_"Yes, he's the one!"_

_"Brilliant work so far, Harry, but we don't have enough proof."_

_"_ _It's all in the office, in the safe! I've checked the records last night, but our safe-hackers are unavailable. I've paged them and everything, but they're out in the field."_

_"I'll think of alternatives, but if you manage to get the proof, it's time for us to go in."_

* * *

Harry isn't sure if this is a date or not.

Malfoy had brought it up last night — _"Would you like to meet me for dinner? I would... very much like to get to know you better, Dan."_ And then he had smiled, a wide barracuda smile that unnerved and aroused Harry in equal parts.

Harry should've said no, of course…

…which would explain why he's right here on Malfoy's doorstep.

"Hi," Malfoy greets when the door swings open. He's dressed in black jeans and a simple black cashmere sweater with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Harry catches that intoxicating, familiar scent of vanilla and cherries when he brushes past Malfoy.

This is also the first time that Harry would be spending time alone with Malfoy. Harry's not sure if the squirming sensation in the pit of his belly is because of anticipation, mild arousal, curiosity or wariness.

Perhaps it's a combination of all of them.

Malfoy beckons Harry to follow him to the kitchen. Although the door to the bedroom is closed, Harry can't stop the whirlwind of memories — of Malfoy in bed working himself to thoughts of Harry — Harry drops his gaze to the spot on the floor where he had come that night-

"Dinner's ready, just let me dish up," Malfoy says, pulling Harry out of his recollections.

Harry takes in the small dining table set for two, the warm food on the stove and the tantalizing scent of herbs and spices.

"You _cooked_ ," Harry says in disbelief, his eyes round with astonishment. "I can't believe... I didn't know you _knew_ how to cook. I thought we would be going out. I should have brought something!"

Malfoy's standing at the stove serving up spaghetti Bolognese — Harry admires the elegant turn of his wrists — paired with skinless grilled chicken and garden vegetables. Malfoy flicks his wand and two plates levitate over to the table. He turns to face Harry and casually sucks sauce off a finger, his lips turning up in a coy grin.

"Why the surprise?"

Harry can't take his eyes off Malfoy's lips. "I'm not... surprised," Harry hedges, ducking his head slightly and rubbing the back of his neck. "I should've known you're a man of many talents."

Malfoy grins, delighted. "Keep talking like that and I might give you _this_ -" — Malfoy saunters over to the fridge, bends over in a very slow, deliberate manner and pulls out a slice of treacle tart with a flourish — "even earlier than expected."

"Did you make that?!"

Malfoy shakes his head. "No. I bought it from the burger bar that we went with the others that night. I... _noticed_ that you really fancied it."

Harry's mouth is already watering — that treacle tart is _bloody_ amazing, but treacle tart coupled with Malfoy might probably be Harry's most favourite thing... Harry quickly swipes the dessert from Malfoy and places it on the table. The other man merely arches a brow in amusement and they finally sit down to dinner. Harry pours red wine into their glasses and pulls his own glass towards him. He takes a few bites of the pasta and catches Malfoy looking at his food and... _smirking_ to himself.

Harry frowns and tilts his head questioningly, to which Malfoy flicks his wrist in a dismissive gesture and indicates the food with his chin.

"How is it?"

"Really good. I'm not much of a cook myself, so it's a rather nice change to be eating home-cooked food for once."

"Oh?" Malfoy runs a fingertip around the rim of his wine glass. "What do you do when you're not dancing?"

Harry is immediately on his guard.

"Quidditch," he replies smoothly. "Most of my free time goes towards playing Quidditch."

"You played when you were at school, I assume? Hogwarts, if I recall correctly?"

"Seeker for Ravenclaw, although I made the team only in my final year," Harry says, his mind flicking back to Dan's cover story.

"What a coincidence! I was Seeker for Slytherin. When did you leave Hogwarts? I'm sure I would have noticed you around if you were in my year," Malfoy says after forking a bite of chicken into his mouth.

"I finished my final year after the War and left Hogwarts a year ago," Harry doesn't miss how Malfoy's left arm tenses when he mentions the War, and quickly steers the conversation back to Quidditch.

"Do you have to rush off somewhere?" Harry asks after a while. He's been noticing how Malfoy's eyes dart to the clock mounted on the wall.

Malfoy looks taken aback by the question but recovers quickly. "No. Just wondering if now's a good time to move this to somewhere _cosier._ " Malfoy says, practically purring the last word.

Harry looks down at their empty plates and wonders, with a hot flare of anticipation, where _cosier_ means. Malfoy dabs his lips on a napkin, gets up from the table and carries his wine glass out of the kitchen. Harry follows suit, and they end up at Malfoy's sofa. Malfoy's long legs are tucked underneath his body, his elbows raised up and resting against the top of the sofa and his head leaning on his arms while he regards Harry with bedroom eyes.

Harry fidgets under his skewering gaze and takes a fortifying gulp of wine.

"You really don't have a clue that I'm seducing you, do you?"

Harry chokes on his wine.

"W-W- _What_?!" 

Harry isn't shocked by the statement itself, but to hear Malfoy announce it so explicitly...

Malfoy's smile is like a sinner's as he plucks Harry's glass out of his hand and prowls closer towards Harry. Harry stumbles back, but it's not long before he's at the end of the couch and Malfoy is so dangerously near-

"Dancing, dinner, dessert and a date. How clear do I have to be? Do you need me to take my clothes off for you?" Malfoy drops his voice down to a throaty whisper.

_Yes, please!_

"No! I mean, _no_ ," Harry blurts out, panic and lust rioting through him.

"Good. Because I was hoping that _you_ would be the one getting me naked tonight," In a flash, Malfoy pushes Harry down on the sofa until he's on top of him, their bodies pressed flush against each other and Harry can feel Malfoy's hard prick through his jeans.

"You want me too, don't you? Unless I've read all your signals wrong. I know you want me. I can _feel_ it," Malfoy grinds his hips downwards, and Harry's sure that Malfoy can feel his own hardening cock.

"Draco..."

Malfoy drops his head in the crook of Harry's neck and licks a strip of skin from collarbone to ear. "Say it again," he growls, eliciting a full-body shudder from Harry. "I've always wanted to hear you say it like that. Not like this, but I'll take whatever I can get. Say it!"

" _Draco,_ " Harry murmurs, and this time, he's the one that thrusts his hips up, rubbing their pricks together. Both men moan, Draco's biting his plump oh-so-kissable lower lip and if Harry tilts his face up at just the right angle, he can kiss Malfoy and it's all that he's thought of at night with his hand wrapped around his own cock in his own body, kissing and licking and sucking Malfoy and he wants to hear his own name on Malfoy's lips again, but not like this, _not in Dan's body_ - 

"How long more until- _fuck_ -" Malfoy says while sucking on Harry's neck, but his words melt into a gasp when he slides the tips of his fingers down Harry's trousers.

Harry tries to claw back some vestige of control, forcing disjointed phrases into the forefront of his mind; _Bad people hurting trapped snakes. Harry Auror catch bad guys. Malfoy bad guy. Bad Malfoy. Very, very bad Malfoy. Must punish Malfoy. Malfoy on knees, begging, I want him to be begging for_ me, _not Dan-_

"I can't. God, you know I so want to, but _Draco_ , stop, _stop-"_ Harry stammers out in Dan's voice and pushes Malfoy away with Dan's hands. Harry sits up shakily. Malfoy falls back onto his haunches, scowling. With narrowed grey eyes, he trails his gaze all over Harry's face, before finally resting on his mop of black hair.

"You remind me of someone from school," Malfoy says.

"A friend?" Harry asks, apprehension rapidly chasing away lust.

"No. He's not exactly what you'd call a friend," Malfoy murmurs silkily, his eyes studying Harry.

A faint alarm clangs in the back of Harry's head.

"Black and messy hair.. similar to yours, actually. Strange, isn't it?" Malfoy continues, although his tone suggests anything _but_ strange. "He doesn't have your eyes, though. He's got green eyes. The greenest eyes you've ever seen, like freshly cut grass on a Quidditch pitch."

 _He knows. I don't know how he's so sure about it, but_ he knows.

"So you used to fancy him?" Harry manages, frantically ransacking his mind to turn this conversation to his favour.

"Does it matter? Unless he's the one that I'm-" Malfoy stops in mid-sentence because the Floo suddenly bursts to life and there's a female voice, clearly in pain, calling out for Malfoy-

Malfoy goes very still for a split-second before hurtling towards the Floo, his back to Harry. Harry cranes his neck, trying to see whose face is described in the embers, but Harry already has an inkling of who she is. A few hurried words are exchanged, words that Harry cannot hear because Malfoy is speaking too quickly and too softly. The Floo fades away, and when Malfoy turns back, he looks even paler than before.

"You have to go," Malfoy orders abruptly. His shoulders slouch as he presses the heels of his palms hard against his closed eyes.

Strangely, Harry doesn't want to leave Malfoy like this.

"Maybe I could-"

"Just go!" Malfoy snaps, his face twisting into a familiar sneer and flashing eyes. Harry steps back, feeling slighted.

It's as if the events that had transpired tonight had never happened at all.

"Fine, if that's the way you want it!" Harry snarls, and without a backwards glance, storms out of the flat and Apparates home.

Bacon, curled up in his big cushioned basket in the living room, raises his head when Harry stomps towards the kitchen.

"Honestly, what the _fuck_ is his problem?! There I was, being happily seduced, he gets a call and I _know_ it's his mother, I offer to help and he throws it back in my face," Harry rages to a highly-amused Bacon as he fills the kettle up and bangs it on the stove. He reaches for a box of tea-bags, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. But it's not working, because it's _Malfoy_ and the stupid git has always had a way of getting under his skin and pushing all the right buttons. Still rattled, Harry makes himself a cup of tea when the water's ready and drinks his scalding-hot tea angrily.

"I don't know whether to fuck him or punch him!"

The snake blinks owlishly at Harry. "You could always do _both._ "

Harry glares at him.

"Oh, I'm _sorry,_ " Bacon drawls. "Was that supposed to be a pointless rhetorical question? Because we both know that you totally want to fuck him!"

"I can't, because he's _Malfoy_!" Harry groans, sinking his head into his hands. "And I can't because he's involved in my case! And I don't know how, but he suspects it's me under Polyjuice. Or... hang on," Harry furrows his brow, thinking hard. "Perhaps he's not _sure_ that it's me, and he's bluffing. So I _know_ that he knows that I _know_ that he knows that it's me, but why wouldn't he-"

"Based on what you told me about his conversation with the blond man, he's got a reason to help you, doesn't he?" Bacon points out, cutting through Harry's confused thoughts.

Harry slumps down in his chair and rubs his eyes.

He should have known that nothing was easy when it came to Draco Malfoy.

"So, right. I hunted and killed Voldemort when I was seventeen. I'm not going to get married with three kids and a Crup because I'm gay. I've dated loads of eligible men-" — at this point Bacon snorts derisively, earning a dirty glare from Harry — "but I've come up short. Now I find someone who's been pissing me off since we were eleven and he's hot as fuck and I'm under Polyjuice because I'm investigating him for a _case_ and he's the worst possible option to date, but fuck, I want him so badly," Harry rambles.

He meets Bacon's gaze head-on.

"I really can't catch a fucking break."

Bacon lets out a long-suffering sigh and if snakes could roll their eyes, he would've. He chivvies Harry towards his bedroom, climbs up to the bed, opens his jaw wide and pulls Harry's duvet open, tucking Harry in.

"Life isn't complicated. It's you humans who make it complicated," Bacon says with such a Hermione-ish air that Harry can't help but laugh.

"You've been hanging around Hermione too much."

"She is a wonderfully delightful biped," Bacon says with a touch of affection, but tosses his head haughtily when he mentions Ron. "I cannot say the same for her choice of mate, however."

"I don't know what you've got against Ron, still. I thought you had worked it out," Harry mumbles. Bacon doesn't reply and only tugs the duvet even higher, and it's not long before Harry falls into a deep sleep, with Bacon coiled up by his side.

* * *

"I think Dan and I can take over Alex's shift."

Harry's hands freeze in mid-air — he's in the midst of applying hair gel — when Malfoy's voice rings out in the dressing room.

Three days have passed since the Night of the Failed Seduction; Malfoy didn't show up for work the first two nights, presumably to take care of his mother. Just half an hour ago, when Harry had made eye contact with Malfoy at the bar, the other man had looked away pointedly.

 _And now he wants to dance with me?_ Harry narrows his eyes at Malfoy's smirking reflection in the mirror.

"Fifteen minutes then, both of you," Frank — the show coordinator — barks after consulting his clipboard.

Malfoy makes no move to approach Harry, so Harry stubbornly stays put and finishes styling his hair. He's seen strippers paired up before, but he's never done it himself. His eyes stray towards Malfoy, who messes up his eyeliner because _he's_ staring at Harry through the mirror-

That's it. Harry's had had enough of this sneaking around and clandestine eye-fucking and this perpetual feeling of not knowing what Malfoy's thinking. He pulls a chunky black and silver bracelet on each wrist, looks in the mirror one last time and stalks over to Malfoy.

"Up for a competition, Draco?"

Malfoy pauses in his eyeliner application.

"What do you propose?"

"Whoever gets the most applause wins."

Malfoy places the finishing touches on his eyes, puts the pen down and meets Harry's gaze. "And what will the prize be?"

Harry hesitates and says the first thing that leaps to his mind. "If you win, I'll make breakfast for you."

"Breakfast? The morning... _after?_ " Malfoy grins coquettishly. "If I win, I get a night with you. With _you_ ," A predatory glint seeps into narrowed grey eyes. "You know what I mean."

Harry pretends that he doesn't know what Malfoy's talking about. They agree on the terms and leave the dressing room.

Harry thinks back to his auditions. He's improved by leaps and bounds since then, as proven by the deafening cheers that greet both men when they take the stage. Harry watches as Draco dances first, running his hands down his partly exposed chest — he's wearing a half-buttoned brown leather jacket with nothing underneath. He does a few rodeo rolls that accentuate his hips, and when he's facing Harry, Malfoy locks eyes with him and pops a button off his jacket. It doesn't take long before Malfoy's stripped his jacket off and thrown it into the crowd, revealing his Dark Mark and a simple black leather band wound round his left upper arm.  

It feels different this time round, because Harry's usually watching at the bar whenever Malfoy's dancing, and fuck, it shouldn't even be a surprise that Malfoy looks even better dancing up close. Harry licks his lips hungrily.

When the music starts to wind down, Malfoy struts towards Harry, and with each step, pale fingers tug on the zipper of black leather trousers slung low over his hips. When he reaches Harry, his trousers are fully unzipped, but he doesn't take them off. He turns sharply on his heel, bows and claps along with the audience when Harry moves centre-stage.

It's almost second nature to Harry's body now — the bright glaring lights, the thumping bassline of the music guiding his dancing, the sensation of pure, unadulterated _freedom_ pounding through his bloodstream when he strips, because he's not just stripping his clothes, sometimes it feels like he's stripping himself of his own identity, because when he dances here, in this club, he's not Harry anymore, he's not Harry at all...

When the music hits its climax, Harry runs towards the end of the stage, drops down to his knees, brings his hands up to the top of his white singlet, holds on tight and...

_...rips._

The crowd roars, and even though it's not any louder than what Malfoy got, Harry shoots the other man a triumphant grin.

He presents his naked upper body in the best way he's been taught to — broad shoulders and chest pushed up and out, legs in blue jeans planted apart. He stays like that for a while, letting the audience soak in the view, before turning his back on them and dancing his way back near Malfoy.

Both men share a frown, because there doesn't seem to be any clear winner. And then Harry sees the two snakes — Malfoy's trademark black mamba and another red snake — climbing up the stage... _together-_

And he gets a wild, _wild_ idea.

Harry crosses the distance between them, stands behind Malfoy and places his palms on Malfoy's hips. He sways his hips to the music, hinting that Malfoy should do the same. With his lower lip caught between his teeth, Malfoy bites back a moan, closes his eyes and throws his head back on Harry's shoulder, exposing his gulping throat to the crowd while they dance together. Malfoy slides his hands up to the back of Harry's neck, pulling him even closer and then returns his descending hands back to his own body — fingers pointing southwards — down his chest yet again, entangling his fingers with Harry's, their fingertips ghosting the waistband of Malfoy's thong-

Harry breathes in the heady scent of vanilla and cherries, he can hear the noise of the crowd and the music but all of that fades away because right now, right here, _nothing else_ — not even the snakes hissing near their feet — _matters except for Malfoy._ Malfoy's eyes flutter open, revealing grey eyes smoky with lust, and Harry knows that Malfoy feels the _exact same way_ , fuck, Malfoy can probably feel Harry's feverish heart beating through his skin-

Something deep, pent-up and _primal_ within Harry snaps _._

In a quick, fluid motion, Harry suddenly spins Malfoy around, drops to his knees at once and tears off Malfoy's leather pants.

Harry hears Malfoy's gasp, he must've realised how they look like — Malfoy's wearing nothing but a black thong, arse cheeks bared to the audience, Harry's on his knees in front of him, Malfoy's crotch at eye-level, and Malfoy's hips are suddenly thrusting up, his fingers buried in messy black hair, and it's so tempting for Harry to take off his thong too, to fit Malfoy completely and fully in his mouth, but not here-

The black mamba starts to wind its way up Malfoy's legs, and Harry can feel the red snake do the same on his own body. Harry slowly stands, his hands trailing possessively all over Malfoy's calves, his arse, the planes of his back and all the way up to Malfoy's shoulders. Over Malfoy's right shoulder, Harry growls and bares his teeth _mine, mine, he's all mine, only mine!-_ to the audience.

He steps back and looks at Malfoy, once cool, calm and collected, now reduced to a fucking hot mess of arousal and longing, because of _him_. Harry smirks and spreads his arms open wide — letting his snake twine itself fully around his right arm.

Malfoy shakes himself out of his stupor. He sinks down to his knees in front of Harry and begins to unbuckle his belt, undoing his jeans, taking his time to slide them off as if he's unwrapping a Christmas present. Harry's left wearing only a pair of black briefs and a big grin when Malfoy's eyes widen and his lips fall apart, having come face-to-face with the bulge in Harry's briefs. Long fingers trace their way up Harry's inner thigh, tip-toe across Harry's jutting hips before pressing down on his abdomen.

Harry obligingly lies down on the floor, and before he knows it, Malfoy has scooted forward on his knees so that Harry's head is between his legs. He feels the red snake move away from his body and join the black mamba. Bare pale thighs tremble on either side of Harry's head, and if he looks hard enough, he can see the outline of Malfoy's balls and maybe even a peek of his arse, Harry wants so much to rip Malfoy's thong off and swallow his prick deep down his throat right now now _now-_

This is on another level altogether, and Harry would never imagine that dancing with Malfoy tonight would involve such explicit displays, _fuck_ , but it's alright because _he's not Harry-_

Harry's own legs are splayed apart and he can't help but palm his own cock when he shifts slightly and sees Malfoy commanding the stage with such a triumphant expression. Each snake is wrapped around either of Malfoy's extended arms, all the way from his wrist up to his shoulder. His action doesn't go un-noticed either — Malfoy reaches down and slaps Harry's hand away from his cock.

Malfoy Summons a chair wandlessly from the side of the stage and hauls himself off Harry. He beckons for Harry to sit down. Harry obeys, and the red snake perches itself on Harry's shoulder — watching, waiting. 

Malfoy starts to dance around Harry, throwing encouraging smiles to keep the audience engaged. He eventually ends up in front of Harry, another step forward, and he's on Harry's lap, his legs hooked over Harry's hips. Malfoy smiles at him while he traces a finger from Harry's temple down to his lips — Harry eagerly takes Malfoy's finger in his mouth and _sucks_. Malfoy lets out another breathy gasp and bucks his hips up. He keeps his thighs clenched hard around Harry as, with his face upturned, he slowly curves his upper body down to the ground while his hands trail even further down Harry's chest. Meanwhile, the black mamba travels the length of Malfoy's torso again, pushing its own upper body high up in the air.

The finale is an amazing spectacle — a thoroughly dishevelled Harry sitting upright on a chair, legs sprawled wide apart, a red snake seated on his shoulder and his body joined to Malfoy's at the hip. A practically naked Malfoy is facing the audience upside down, upper body bent so low that strands of blond hair graze the floor, his black mamba poised high and proud on his chest.

As the music starts to wind down, Malfoy slides two fingers in his mouth and gives them a brief suck as his hips grind hard on Harry's cock. With his palms braced on the floor, Malfoy swings back up smoothly and hops off Harry's lap with a flourish, drawing a disappointed groan from the club. In response, Malfoy throws them a wink and a pout. He bends down to grip the back of Harry's chair and motions for Harry to get up.

The music shudders to a stop, and as the pair take their bows, Harry can't stop staring at Malfoy. He's the very personification of sex — all long legs, pale skin, filthy mind, wicked tongue and parted lips, and under that saucy confidence and breezy bravado is a man that's a fucking _enigma_ to Harry.

Draco Malfoy _is_ sex — an on-stage rock star and a back-stage porn star.

And _Harry has never wanted to fuck anyone so much before._

"Who won?" Malfoy asks shakily, refusing to meet Harry's eye as they move back-stage.

"Both of us," Harry hisses and shoves Malfoy up against the wall, and finally, _finally,_ they're kissing — desperate, wet, open-mouthed kisses that _bruise_ — kissing as if they haven't been kissed in _years_ and Harry's losing his _fucking_ mind because Malfoy's so pliant and willing under his touch, oh _God-_

"You drive me fucking mad," Harry manages between gasps and pants and kisses. Malfoy offers his neck up for Harry to suck and Harry does it eagerly, his tongue dipping to lick Malfoy's snake earring before going down to his neck. "Always acting like you're the king, worthy of worship. Since Hogwarts, your little Slytherin fan club and girls and boys... And now, adoring men watch and cheer while you take off your clothes." 

"Why? Jealous?" Once again, that triumphant smirk curls Malfoy's lips, as if Harry had let slip something that he wasn't supposed to, but Harry's brain is short-circuiting as he kisses that smirk away.

Harry laughs, low and gravelly. "Jealous? I don't see any of them doing this to you. I don't see you riding their thigh like how you're doing to mine." For Harry had jammed his thigh between Malfoy's legs, letting the other man rub his prick against him as hard and as fast as he wants.

"I don't blame them. Because you're _worthy._ With that body, those lips and your _stupid_ cherries... I'll worship you anytime, any day," Harry snarls, grinning against Malfoy's skin when his hips speed up jerkily at Harry's words. "I'll worship you when I'm down on my knees."

Harry strokes Malfoy's thong, licks the shell of his ear and whispers, " _I'll worship you all night long._ "

Anticipation thunders through Harry, 'cos he's so close to slipping Malfoy's thong off, and he can't wait to go on his knees again in front of him and this time he's going to suck him off until Malfoy can't stand straight, can't think straight-

"Dan, you're- _fucking hell!_ "

Frank's voice cuts sharply through the heated air of moans and pants, and their bubble of lust pops.

Harry and Malfoy spring away from each other.

"You're up in ten," A blushing Frank mutters and flees the scene.

_Dan._

He's not Harry.

It takes a few seconds for the world to click back into focus and for Harry's mind to catch up. He's Polyjuiced, here for a case, and he's so close to breaking it wide open.

He can't... he _can't._

_He's not Harry._

With that thought lodged firmly in his brain, Harry turns and runs.

But if he had looked back for just one second, he would have seen how Malfoy had slid down to the ground, as if the kiss had sapped all of his remaining energy, might have even heard Malfoy's whisper of _Harry, come back._

But he doesn't.

* * *

He's wearing the same leather pants as before and he's drinking the same green cherry drink as before.

But everything has changed.

Every nerve in Harry's body is on high alert as Malfoy sits beside him at the bar. A love bite has blossomed on the side of Malfoy's neck, and Harry feels his face heat up when he remembers exactly _who_ put it there.

"There's a number you can ring, you know, when you get lost here with the lights off behind closed doors," Malfoy says cryptically and tips his head in the direction of the office that Harry had tried to break into days before. With his eyes boring hard into Harry's, Malfoy reaches for his hand and traces a seven-digit number on his palm.

It's the key-code of the safe, Harry realises with a jolt.

Malfoy moves away from Harry and falls silent, his grey eyes contemplative.

"If I were to ring this number..." Harry starts slowly, meeting Malfoy's gaze. "How can I know that there'll be someone helpful on the line?"

Harry can see that Malfoy's picking his next words carefully.

"Probably for the same reason that the same person picked up the phone when you had a Stinging Jinx on your face."

Harry grips his pint tighter when memories of the skirmish at Malfoy Manor tumble through his mind.

The flesh on Harry's palm — where Malfoy has traced the key-code — continues to tingle.

Harry swivels his chair so that he's facing the stage and takes a swig of beer.

"Go somewhere with an alibi after your set tonight," Harry says lightly, not looking at Malfoy.

"Why?"

"The same reason why ferrets shouldn't be left stranded in rooms of Fiendfyre," Harry murmurs, finally turning back to face Malfoy.

A heartbeat of silence passes.

No one else would have understood the conversation, but that's what they did — talk in riddles wrung from roses that only _they_ could understand. Harry had just as well admitted point-blank his true identity to Malfoy; and Malfoy clearly knows it, judging by the triumphant sparkle in grey eyes and his widening grin.

"You like cherries?" Malfoy says cheekily.

Harry frowns at the non-sequitur. Shrugging, Malfoy plucks a cherry from his drink, holds it between his teeth and moves closer to Harry. His heart thudding hard and fast in his chest, Harry leans in and bites on half of the cherry. They both chew and swallow, their lips grazing against each other, but before Harry can move away, Malfoy's got his hand around the back of Harry's neck and he's _kissing_ him all over again, but it's different this time, not any less mind-blowing than the hot, desperate kisses that they had shared just two hours ago, but _different-_

The game is up — Malfoy knows that it's _him, Harry Potter,_ but he's still kissing him anyway.

Harry moans and deepens the cherry kiss, a kiss that brims with a heat, burns with an intensity that warms Harry down to the marrow of his bones. It's a kiss ripe with promise and potential, a hint of future things to come-

Malfoy pulls away and looks intently into Harry's eyes.

"I've always preferred green eyes to blue," Malfoy whispers. A finger slides down Harry's abdomen, down to the top of his jeans, before stopping.

Harry's breath hitches.

"One other thing you should know about ferrets... they don't like to be kept waiting for their breakfast the morning after," Malfoy says slyly as a parting shot, before winking and winding his way backstage.

Harry suppresses the urge to follow Malfoy.

There's many things to do, now that Harry has the key-code. He looks at his watch. Parvati and the others would be sleeping at this hour, but they can't wait any longer. Harry mentally runs through the list of people he has to notify at once, they'll have to raid the club as soon as possible to free the snakes and grab as much evidence as they can, before going after the people right at the top.

But he finds his concentration wandering when Malfoy appears on-stage.

This will be his last night here, in Serpentes. Harry absorbs the atmosphere — the bright lights, loud music, the intoxicating sense of liberation that this place has offered... He feels the texture of the smooth wooden bar counter under his fingertips and closes his eyes, imprinting this exact moment in his mind. He flexes his muscles — this would be the last time he'll be in Dan's body. It's been rather nice having a body like this, but Harry can't wait to get back into his own body permanently. 

Yes, he's got many things to do, but you know what?

Harry links his fingers behind his head and makes himself comfortable at the bar.

All of that can wait until after he sees Draco Malfoy dance in this club one last time.

* * *

**/tbc**


	3. Encore

The past few days have been exhausting.

A groggy Bacon slips off Harry's body and goes to his basket at once. They've just Apparated home from the office without even stopping for dinner. Harry strips off his Auror uniform and heads straight for the shower.

Things have moved fast since that last night in Serpentes — the Aurors had raided the club and obtained all the proof that they needed. The interviews with the snakes — after they've had the drugs flushed out of their systems — had proved to be surprisingly useful. Since the Aurors have been tracking Pietro Labelle ever since Harry identified him from photographs, they've finally managed to capture him and two other associates in one fell swoop just hours ago.

Despite all of the furore, Harry had also assigned two junior Aurors to keep a discreet eye on Malfoy in case any of Labelle's lackeys decided to come after him.

Parvati, Kingsley and a few members of the Magical Creatures Department are currently hatching a plan to round up the other criminals, but Kingsley had taken one look at Harry and kicked him out of the office to get some rest.

Harry steps out of the shower to see Bacon on his bed.

"Are you going to see him tonight?" The snake asks, bouncing eagerly.

It's strange how the thought of Malfoy scrubs away some of Harry's weariness.

"Um," Harry hedges, buying for time while he pulls on a sweater and jeans. He's not sure what's going to happen when Malfoy sees him in his own body. "It's pretty late and I wouldn't want to-"

"Harry, it's _eight_ in the evening. Even _children_ aren't in bed at this time. "

Harry, suddenly flustered, escapes to his kitchen with Bacon dogging his steps the entire way.

"Finally, someone comes along who isn't like a _chopped Flobberworm_ , and here you are, hemming and hawing. I still don't know why you're hesitating — he _knew_ it was you and he kissed you anyway, and judging by how much you touched yourself that night it was a pretty damn good kiss!"

"I told you to stop watching me!"

"I didn't _watch_ you, I've got better things to do with my time," Bacon sniffs. "It's not my fault that you sound like a wounded Hippogriff when you're touching yourself!"

Harry lets out a scandalised gasp as his head pops up from the open fridge.

"I do not sound like that!"

Bacon slithers over to peek in the fridge and draws back to look at Harry, his eyes narrowing in glee.

"I see you've got nothing to eat. What a great opportunity to ask him out for dinner!" Bacon declares and he's off, snapping away at Harry's heels, chivvying him out of the kitchen and towards his coat-stand. "And don't tell me you're not curious about how he figured you out!"

Well, yeah, Harry _has_ been wondering about that.

"Off you go! What would your dull, drab love life be like without me?" Bacon says, sighing theatrically.

"A lot less bloody dramatic, I'd think!" Harry huffs, shrugging his coat on.

Besides, Harry owes Malfoy breakfast the morning _after_ — his brain supplies helpfully — and er, Harry's always a man of his word.

With Bacon sending him off with a cheery wave of his tail, Harry Apparates to Malfoy's front door and knocks.

The door opens, and Malfoy's right _there_. Once again, Harry detects that whiff of cherries and vanilla that remind him of designer lips and breathless kisses. Upon seeing Harry, Malfoy blinks in mild surprise.

 "Are you here on official or unofficial business?" Malfoy asks, one corner of his lips hooking up in a predatory smile, but Harry can see a tinge of worry in grey eyes.

Harry's eyes dart to Malfoy's mouth.

"Unofficial. Definitely unofficial."

"Come in then."

Harry closes the door behind him and turns to face Malfoy. "Why did you help me?" He asks without any preamble. "I overheard the conversation that you had with Labelle when he told you that I was on the case."

Instead of answering, Malfoy chuckles dryly and Summons a bottle of wine and a glass. He settles on the couch and makes a good show of pouring the wine out. Swirling his glass slowly, Malfoy places his chin in his palm and rakes his eyes all over Harry, as if he's seeing Harry for the first time.

It's like the auditions all over again. Harry frowns and takes a step closer, refusing to let Malfoy have the upper hand in this power play.

"It's because of your mother, isn't it?"

"Going straight to business, I see. I don't mind, if it means we get to have fun sooner rather than later," Malfoy murmurs, taking a long gulp of wine and licking his lips deliberately.

Harry feels his body reacting to Malfoy's words and that swipe of pink tongue over blowjob lips.

"Yes, my mother's not well. I've been keeping it under control with home-made potions, but she's... taken a turn for the worse lately. She needs St. Mungo's, but they barely gave us the time of the day," Draco explains, his voice getting softer with every word. He looks away from Harry's indignant expression and toys with his earring.

"Don't be so surprised, Potter," Malfoy says, looking back at Harry and sneering. "That's how life is for us. Sure, men love the whole bad-boy act, but off the stage and out of the costumes, that's how it is, and that's how I've learnt to live."

Malfoy's chin juts with resolve, and despite his words, Harry can still see that strong veneer of Malfoy pride — brittle and maybe just a little bit broken at the edges, but still there, and this only attracts Harry even more.

Harry sits down cautiously on the sofa.

"So you really didn't have anything to do with the trafficking?"

Malfoy shakes his head.

"He asked me if I wanted in, of course. He knew my history, knew that Death Eaters did some potion and poison trafficking on the side. I refused. He wasn't happy, but he probably saw the novelty in having a Death Eater strip for his club," Draco laughs mirthlessly. "He hired me eventually, but with the additional stipulation of granting me ownership of the club on paper.

"Imagine my luck when he told me that you were in charge of this. If it had been any other Auror, they would have locked me up in a heartbeat. I can't leave London, not with my mother in this condition, but neither could I stay, so you were my best bet. I helped you, and you, in turn, will help my mother get treated at St. Mungo's," Malfoy smirks at Harry, angling his body towards Harry. "Never knew that Gryffindor integrity would end up in my favour one day."

"I would call this _manipulation_ , Malfoy," Harry snarls, his fists bunching up. Again, Harry finds himself wondering about Malfoy's character, which still seems to be as grey as his eyes.

" _Manipulation_ ," Malfoy parrots and places his wine on the coffee table. "Such a... _crass_ word. It's just a matter of helping each other out. Without me, you would have taken ages more to solve your case."

Harry isn't sure whether he'd like to kiss or punch that satisfied smirk off Malfoy's face.

"We'll still have to question you," Harry says, trying to suppress a spike of anger.

"That's alright. I have nothing to hide. I just have one last request of you," Malfoy says, his smirk fading as he looks down and fiddles with the corners of a cushion. "You've sent Aurors after me. Not to arrest me, but to watch over me, haven't you? You didn't have to do that, but I... appreciate it. I also know names involved in the trafficking ring, more names that I'm sure would have escaped your notice. Grant my mother and I further protection, and I will give you information. Can you promise me that?"

Harry nods tightly.

"Good. I can assure you of one thing: the others — Matthew, Alex, Jacob — have nothing to do with this."

Harry thinks back to the easy manner that Malfoy interacts with them, and he realises that they're the closest that Malfoy's had to friends.

"Did you think I had any other reason for helping you?" Malfoy asks, looking curious.

Harry blinks.

"I thought that maybe... you wanted to do something right?" Harry tries uncertainly. Apparently this isn't the right thing to say at all, for Draco's eyes flash angrily.

"You think I'm looking for _redemption_? I've paid for my mistakes! I've paid by starting from the bottom on the stripper pole, getting _pawed at,_ mocked at for my scars! I've paid by having the Mark branded on me, my family name dragged through the mud, and _this_!" Draco shouts, yanking his collar down and clawing at the Azkaban serial number. "The truth of the matter is that I'm a _stripper_ , Potter! I bare my body for strangers to drool over. Hardly a respectable profession for the last Malfoy heir."

"I didn't mean-"

"Of course you didn't, Saint _Potter_! There you go in your fancy Auror robes and your perfect life and perfect friends! No one spits at you when you walk down the streets, no one refuses you service when you're at a shop. You can get any job you want, but you've signed up for a life of catching criminals and locking them up, oh I'm _sure_ the wizarding world sleeps better at night knowing that the great Harry _Potter_ is looking over them! Must be easy being you, isn't it, life divvied up into black or white, _good_ or _bad_ people!"

This is the first time in a long time that anyone's spoken to Harry like this.

And he fucking _loves_ it, loves this sear of challenge and this cocktail of red-hot anger and lust bubbling up within him.

This is something that only Malfoy can give.

Harry loves that _he's_ the one to break Malfoy's polished, pristine composure, revealing this glimpse of Malfoy from the past.

"Is this what you really think of me?" Harry says softly, trying to rein in his own annoyance, because being an Auror has taught Harry that life isn't black or white, good or bad, in fact, it's the exact _opposite-_

Malfoy smiles tersely — a smile chained behind gritted teeth and sealed lips.

"I apologise for my outburst. I think... you should go. I'll be awaiting word from the Aurors," Malfoy says, retreating into politeness and tugging on his earring again.

Harry could think of ten reasons off the top of his head saying that it'll be a terrible idea to pursue something with Malfoy, but Harry isn't going to leave, _can't_ leave now, because in the past few weeks, they've unleashed something between them — something like a runaway train that's already left the station with no possibility of turning back.

"I'm not done with you yet, Malfoy. Not even close," Harry moves closer to Malfoy. "You knew it was me."

This is the second time in his life that Harry has said this to Malfoy.

Malfoy suddenly grins. "Bet you've been going mad trying to figure it out, haven't you?"

Harry pulls a dumb look on his face, biting back a smile. They've both changed throughout the years, but Harry knows that Malfoy would never miss a chance to lord anything over him.

"It wasn't _that_ difficult, actually, ever since I knew you were involved. I was thinking over Labelle's words, and I found it strange that there hasn't been any overt raid or surveillance on the club — if there was, my guards would have told me at once. So either nothing was happening, or someone was working undercover, probably someone new. That was when I started noticing _Dan_ properly. He had no references, and he was particularly good with snakes, as if he could talk to them.

"I had brushed it off at first because there's no way you could dance like that, but if you had one of the snakes, it could have taught you some things. I noticed small things here and there that were easily dismissible, but when you put them together, it fits," Malfoy says, counting them off his fingers as he warms up to his theme. "Polyjuice hides the way one looks, but not how one moves and talks and _acts._ You're too clumsy off the stage, banging your ankle on table legs and knocking things over, as if your body is too big for you.

"You still rub the back of your neck when you're embarrassed. I noticed it dozens of times in Hogwarts — for example, when you were reading gossip about yourself in the _Prophet_ and when your friends make fun of you. When you're caught in a tight spot, your eyes dart to the left, drop and then look back up before you fumble an answer. Your hand keeps nudging your nose, as if you're adjusting glasses that aren't there. The way you run your fingers through your hair, exactly the same. Your hair still looks as if a small baby bird could fly out of it any moment," Malfoy says, wrinkling his nose as his eyes snag on Harry's hair. "I would have thought that if you were under Polyjuice, that would be the first thing you'd change."

Harry has no time to feel indignant before Malfoy powers on.

Malfoy's gaze drop to Harry's eyes. "It doesn't matter what colour your eyes are, you've always had that intense stare, like how you look like when we're fighting. When you eat, your drink's always on your left — doesn't matter whether it's wine or pumpkin juice — and your main meal in the middle and dessert — _always_ treacle tart — on your right."

"You remembered that my favourite dessert is treacle tart?"

"Potter, everyone and their _grandmother_ knows that you love treacle tart," Malfoy says, waving a hand dismissively. "If there are different things on your plate, you always eat them in proportion. That's why I cooked three things that night: pasta, chicken and vegetables. I was waiting for you to excuse yourself to drink Polyjuice after an hour, but I reckoned that the Ministry would have Polyjuice with longer durations.

"I returned to the office after you tried to break in, and sure enough, the security spells had been tampered with. That's how I knew that you had discovered the safe and needed the key-code."

"With those skills of observation, you should have been an Auror."

Malfoy scowls. "You still don't get it, do you, Potter? _It works only on you_."

Malfoy must have known how that sounds, because he immediately blushes a bright red.

"I didn't know you've been admiring me so much from a distance," Harry says coyly and closes the distance between them on the sofa. "I've been watching you too, you know."

Malfoy looks wonderfully cornered.

Harry smiles, loving that he has the upper hand now.

"When I sent you home after the pub, I watched you."

"W-Watch me?"

" _I watched you wank to me._ I watched how you screamed my name as you came all over your bed. I know how you like to touch yourself — three quick jerks and one long stroke, your thumb over your slit. How long have you been thinking about me like this?"

Malfoy tries a dismissive laugh, but it comes out rather strangled.

"It was just that one night-"

"Bullshit. You moaned my name too easily for that to be the first time. You wanna know something, Malfoy? I was touching myself too while I watched you. I came outside your bedroom, on your floor, right _there_. And ever since then, I can't stop thinking about you in that way too," Harry admits.

"You kinky _fuck_ ," Malfoy murmurs, his pupils dilated.

"So when did it start, hmmm? When did you start becoming my personal Slytherin slut?"

Malfoy's fiddling with the pillows again and he refuses to meet Harry's eye.

"Fifth year. The year you got hot," he whispers.

 _"What?!"_ Harry squawks.

Malfoy looks incredulous.

"You didn't _know_? You didn't notice how all the girls and some of the boys were looking at you like they wanted you for dessert?"

"I thought it was because of the Triwizard Tournament the year before, I didn't..." Harry casts his mind back. Come to think of it, Hermione had hinted something to that effect, but Harry hadn't paid much attention to it...

"You got ridiculously _fit_ that year, Potter, and _everyone_ noticed."

"Oh."

This is probably why Ron emotional-range-of-a-teaspoon Weasley and he, Harry as-observant-as-a-brick-wall Potter are best mates.

"I figured out I was gay that year too, and you were the first bloke I wanked to, although you're not the only one. Merlin, I can't believe you're still so damn hopeless about this. Just makes me want you even _more_ ," Malfoy hisses through gritted teeth, resting a palm on Harry's knee. "I've noticed so many things about you, but I'm drawing a blank when it comes to sex. How are you like in bed? How does your cock look like? Bet I won't be able to get enough of it. Are you loud? How do you sound like when you come? Where are your sweet spots — I wanna discover each and every one of them and make you feel so _good_. Maybe I'll find out tonight.

"After all that's happened, it's a fitting way to end this, isn't it? With your cock up my arse? You don't know how much I want it, want _you_ and your stupid messy hair and your green eyes and _everything._ Just give me one night, get it out of our systems. One night for me to do anything you want," Malfoy's pushed Harry down on the sofa, and they're both breathing heavily.

The air around them shivers with scorching expectation.

"And you think I'd do what you want, Malfoy?" Harry asks, licking his lips and thrusting his hips up in spite of his words — fuck, Malfoy's prick feels so damn good. "Take you right here on your couch, and then do it all over again in your bed? Make you scream for more, have my way with you till you can't remember your name, can't walk properly the next day? I want to fuck you so much, _Draco,_ " Harry hisses, loving the effect that using Malfoy's given name has on him. "You have no idea how much-"

"Then fucking _do it_ already," Malfoy snarls, pawing at Harry's jeans.

Harry closes his eyes briefly, letting an image of the _Auror's Handbook of Proper Code and Conduct_ float in his mind.

"I can't," Harry says shortly. Summoning every sliver of his self-control, Harry shoves Malfoy off.

"What the _fuck_ , Potter?"

"You're due for questioning under my case. We can't get involved."

"You break every damn rule back in Hogwarts, and you're suddenly all for following the rules now? I don't believe this!"

"I've worked _hard_ at my job! I'm not going to throw it all away just for a fuck!"

"Well then, question me tomorrow so we can fuck tomorrow night!"

Harry shakes his head.

"We need to close the case officially first. And that includes paperwork," Harry says, wincing when he thinks of the mountain of paperwork a big case like this would involve.

"Fine. I'll cash in that fuck when you're done then. Come back when you're ready," Malfoy huffs in frustration and takes a step towards the door.

Harry stays put.

"I don't want just one night with you, Malfoy. I wanna fuck you all the time, every time. Anywhere, everywhere. However you'd like it, but I wanna do this properly," Harry pulls Malfoy closer to him and grabs his waist. He inches up (unlike Dan, he's shorter than Malfoy) and before the other man can react, Harry's pressed his lips against Malfoy's. They're kissing all over again, exactly like their last kiss in the club, but it's different now — it's Harry's own hands moving all over Malfoy's body, his own lips kissing Malfoy's, his own voice moaning in Malfoy's mouth and it's absolutely _divine._

Harry doesn't just want sex.

He wants _more,_ but he doesn't know how Malfoy feels. Nevertheless, Harry's still going to try, because you know what, if Harry could get his kit off every night and dance in a strip club, he could bloody well ask Draco Malfoy out on a proper date.

Harry pulls away and lightly traces the outline of Malfoy's thoroughly kissed lips with a thumb.

A dazed Malfoy is quickly becoming one of Harry's favourite things.

"Right, then. Get your coat. We're going out for dinner," Harry says briskly.

Malfoy gapes at Harry, flustered. "You mean… Like a date? But all that stuff you said about your work..."

"It's just a meet-up between old schoolmates, isn't it, if anyone asks," Harry says, shrugging. "But here's what's going to happen: we're going back to that burger bar for dinner, I'm going to eat that treacle tart again, and after an entirely delightful evening, I'm going to kiss you goodnight and send you home."

Harry thanks his lucky stars that his voice doesn't betray the nervousness that he feels.

"You're mad," Malfoy says faintly, but he's moving towards his coat-stand. "Do I not have a say in this?"

"You do, but you're putting on your coat. So I reckon this means that you're as interested in me as I am in you."

"You infuriate me to no end, Potter," Malfoy declares as they walk out the door into the cool night air.

Harry chuckles.

"Always a joy talking to you too, Malfoy."

* * *

"Potter, your pet keeps staring at me," Draco calls out from Potter's living room as he scoots forward on the couch to take a better look at the animal. It's a sleek grey part-Gaboon viper and if Draco's guess is right, part-Runespoor — the snake that had been rescued during the raid. Noticing that it hasn't been Marked, Draco surmises that it must have fled fairly early in the process.

"Is he bothering you?" Potter asks, emerging from the kitchen with two beers. He tosses one to Draco and hisses to the snake. Draco’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks away quickly. Potter shouldn’t be so damn _sexy_ when he’s speaking Parseltongue — all bright focused eyes, sibilant rasps and rough guttural voice.

Draco recovers and shoots him an exasperated look.

"I've spent the past two years with snakes wrapped around my privates, thank you very much."

"Oh, yeah," Potter says, grinning.

The snake rouses itself from its basket and slithers towards Draco. It hisses something back to Potter, who rolls his eyes and flaps his hand in Draco's direction. It hoists its long sinuous body up to the sofa, sandwiching itself between both men. To Draco's amusement, it climbs up to his lap and swirls all over his thighs, letting out a dangerous hiss and showing a flash of long fang.

Draco doesn't even flinch.

"Is he trying to scare me away? Is your pet _jealous_ of me?" Draco bites back a bubble of laughter.

"No, he's not. He's just being his usual annoying self," Potter replies wearily. He snarls something to the snake and beckons it off Draco's lap. It follows, pulls itself up to its full height, tosses its triangular head in the air and hisses loudly.

Potter immediately blushes.

"What did it say?" Draco asks at once.

"Nothing. He's just going hunting," Potter insists, turning his attention back to the snake and communicating with him in low, furious hisses. The snake doesn't even register Potter's reply; it simply turns to Draco...

...and _winks_.

"No, that's definitely not what he said," Draco says, smirking.

Draco and the snake prowl closer to Potter, cornering him at the couch.

Potter eventually throws his hands up. "I can't win with him, and with you... _fine._ He just said that..." Potter's blush deepens. "He approves of you."

Draco blinks in astonishment before bursting into laughter.

"He _approves_ of me?! Does your pet have to approve everyone that you go out with?"

Draco's mind stutters to a stop. They just meet up for dinner and drinks and hang out once every few days, and sure, sometimes they do end up snogging, but that's not really going out _going out_ , is it? Draco darts a quick look at Potter, who seems unfazed by Draco's choice of words.

"No! But that's what he does, anyway. He thinks he knows what's best for me, and well..." Potter trails off. He looks down at his clasped hands rather shyly, "he means _you,_ 'cos you're the first one that he's approved. Everyone else that I take home, he just... er... chases them away."

"Well, he's got good taste then," Draco says, preening. He looks at the snake, whose head is flicking back and forth between the both of them as if trying to follow the conversation. "But why? He barely knows anything about me."

Potter rubs the back of his neck, refusing to meet Draco's gaze.

Draco's eyes widen. "You've been talking to him about me, haven't you?!"

"No! Not exactly. He just reminds me of you, y'know? He's like _you_ , if you were a snake — all snarky and sarcastic and witty. I didn't notice it at first, but when I translated his words to Hermione, she pointed that out to me. And he has a problem with Ron too, for some reason," Potter says, wincing.

The snake bounces up and down and hisses, tilting its head to the side as if waiting for an answer. 

"He likes it that I'm dating someone similar to him. He's now wondering if I told you all of that."

"Well, I like him already," Draco declares. "Tell him that."

"That's the _last_ thing he needs," Potter grumps, but translates it anyway. The snake looks delighted at Potter's words and grins affectionately at Draco. It wends its way towards the door, throwing a last hiss to Potter.

Potter snarls back and shakes a fist before settling back down on the couch and taking a long swig of his beer.

"He's very good at riling me up."

"Just like me," Draco points out with a triumphant grin.

He looks around and spies Potter's Auror uniform draped over the back of a chair, reminding him of the time when Potter and his partner had come to Draco's house to question him about the case. Those scarlet robes had always taken the top spot in Draco's fantasies — years ago, when the _Prophet_ had reported that the Golden Boy had joined the Aurors and helpfully provided a photograph of him in Auror robes, Draco had immediately wanked himself raw.

That was probably why, coupled with lewd gestures and meaningful eyebrows towards Potter's uniform, Draco had mouthed _fuck me in that_ to Potter when Patil's back was turned. She had glimpsed Potter's expression and sighed, "I know you've got issues, Harry, but we're not in school anymore. You've got to get over it."

To which Potter had replied in a rather strained voice, "Trust me, Parvati. We've got _way_ over it."

All in all, it had been a very amusing interview for Draco, who of _course_ had to be wearing the tightest leather pants that he owned and bending over at every possible moment to give Potter a nice long look at his arse.

A flurry of cold night air enters through the windows, raising goosebumps on Draco's skin. He's bone-tired, having just finished a night's work at Club Eden. Draco nudges his way into Potter's arms, head lolling back on Potter's shoulder with his eyes closed. He sighs blissfully when Potter puts his beer down to hold him properly — he can already feel his exhaustion ebbing away.

Potter's presence is like a bright, refreshing breeze in the middle of a muggy summer day. 

They stay like that, all wrapped up in each other, for a while. 

"D'you wanna... dance?" Potter pipes up in a rather shy voice.

Draco expects to feel indignant — he's been grinding away on the dance floor the whole night — but he doesn't feel anything like that at all. Instead, he sits up in curiosity and watches as Potter clicks through songs on his iPod. He chooses one and moves back to Draco, who brazenly pushes himself up against Potter even before the music has started.

Potter gulps.

"Draco, could you er, stop humping my thigh? It's not that kind of dance."

Draco stills at once.

"Sorry, occupational hazard," Draco mumbles and puts some space between them, feeling thrown off-kilter. If it's not the sort of dancing that he did in clubs, then what-

The first few chords of a saxophone — slow, sweet and romantic — start to croon.

_Oh._

Potter brushes the stripper glitter off Draco's eyelids with his thumbs and trails his hands down the sides of his face in a heart-stoppingly intimate manner. And there it is again, that shining, green-eyed intensity that makes Draco's heart flip over like a pancake and does strange things to his insides.

Draco vaguely wonders how Potter looks like without his glasses.

Draco's dated many men, but none of them have ever made him feel anything close to this.

Draco knows that Potter isn't entirely happy with his line of work — he remembers how Potter, disguised as Dan, had growled possessively with his arms around Draco during their last dance in Serpentes; knows it by the way Potter kisses him a little bit too roughly right before Draco goes to work. Spurred on by Draco's encouraging gasps of pleasure, Potter always leaves a snaking trail of blooming love bites behind his earlobe (the one with Draco's snake earring) all the way down to his collarbone.

For some reason, Draco loves being Marked by Potter.

They're turning slowly to the music now — Draco's hands resting on Potter's shoulders and Potter's palms on Draco's waist. It's the first time in years that Draco's danced without taking off a stitch of clothing, yet he feels even more naked than if he'd been stripping.

It's been three weeks since Potter had dragged him to the burger bar, but there are still many things that they have yet to talk about — Draco's stripping and the War (sometimes Draco catches Potter's eyes lingering uncomfortably on his Dark Mark). Nevertheless, Potter's already moved on to addressing Draco by his first name, while Draco's still stuck on _Potter._

 Potter stops moving and Draco follows suit, momentarily confused. With a strange new sort of intensity glittering in green eyes, Potter clears his throat and pulls Draco closer to him.

"I think I'm falling for you, Draco Malfoy."

Potter's words, sparkling with sincerity, stumble over themselves as they fall from his lips and Draco can only duck his head in the crook of Potter's shoulder, entirely speechless.

A heartbeat of hesitation thuds in Draco as he tries to say something coherent. But how can he put into words the feelings that Potter conjure, just like magic, in him? He wants to remember this moment, gather it all up in cupped hands — this very song the soundtrack to Potter's admission, the way Potter is holding him as if he never ever wants to let go, this jumble of emotions _I'm not ready yet, how... how can you be?-_ tangled in Draco — he wants to press this moment to his heart and preserve it forever, like flowers pressed lovingly between the pages of journals.

"Potter, I-"

For once, he doesn't know what to say.

Potter smiles with an uncharacteristic patience. "I'll wait, you know I will."

It's times like this when Draco suspects that, despite knowing Potter's idiosyncrasies, he's never really figured Potter out at all.

And this only makes Draco want to know him even better.

He can't deny how Potter's unchained his smile bit by bit, even though Draco always hides it beneath a subdued sneer, behind a hand or reluctant twitch of lips, but as the music fades away, Draco lets a genuine smile blossom on his face...

... a smile like a _careful confession_.

* * *

Draco frowns at the television screen, his hand pausing its rustling in the popcorn bowl. Even though it's not Draco's first time watching television, he still doesn't understand how Muggles can spend hours in front of this little box watching mind-numbingly boring shows.

He points at the simpering female on screen.

"Potter, I don't understand..." Draco starts, but stops when he sees how Potter's looking at him. He's been like this, distracted and jittery, sneaking secret glances at Draco all evening.

"D'you want to stay for breakfast tomorrow?" Potter asks, his gaze sliding all over Draco's body like oil over water.

"Breakfast?" Draco replies faintly.

"With me. Here. Tomorrow morning. The morning _after_ ," Potter seems to have lost the ability to speak in full sentences.

"Does this mean..."

"Yes. Wrapped up the case today."

Draco carefully places the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, not taking his eyes off Potter.

Potter follows his cue by reaching for the remote and switching the movie off.

This very moment, crackling with pent-up sexual anticipation and energy, stretched as taut as a rope, lingers between them, as they simply stare at each other.

And then without warning, they _pounce._

"When were you going to tell me?!" Draco snarls between furious kisses and the urgent tussle of limbs. Potter's kissing him hard, hands clawing at the buttons of his shirt and grabbing his arse _all at the same time_ -

"After the movie. Thought I could wait, but I can't. Not a second longer," Potter pushes Draco down on the couch and guides Draco's hand to his cock. _"I've been hard since dinner_."

Potter's prick, even through his jeans, feels hard and thick and wonderful as _fuck_ and Draco can't stop looking at the bulge and rubbing at it. Potter frantically unbuttons his jeans and he's about to pull his zipper down when Draco gets up.

"Wait-"

" _Wait_?! You want me to _wait_ -"

"Yes," Draco hisses through clenched teeth. "I have to go home and get something, just one minute, promise-"

"No, I won't let you," Potter snarls and leads Draco to the direction of his bedroom.

"You're rejecting a private striptease from me?"

Potter stops in his tracks.

"Didn't think so," Draco smirks and presses his body against the other man. "When I get back here, here's what I want to see: I want you sitting in a chair in your bedroom, and you're going to be wearing nothing but your pants. Got it?"

Potter captures Draco's lips in a fiery kiss before letting him go. Draco Apparates home, rifles through his closet for a change of clothes, grabs something else and Apparates back.

"Good boy," Draco purrs when he sees Potter, half-naked and waiting and so damn _ready_. His clothes are balled up and chucked in the corner of the room. Potter gets up from the chair at once, but freezes when Draco barks out, "Stay!"

Potter utters a sound of protest but sits back down.

Draco goes to Potter's iPod and chooses a song. As the music starts, Draco sashays towards Potter. Potter moves as if to touch Draco, but he slaps his hands away.

"Hands at the back," Draco commands, feeling arousal shatter through his body when Potter immediately obeys. He moves to the back and loops his old Slytherin tie around Potter's hands, tying them firmly to the chair. Potter cranes his neck back to see what he's tied them with.

"Kinky bastard."

"I do it only 'cos you like it," Draco flashes him a silky grin and trails his hands up and down, and then back up Potter's bare chest. Squeezes his shoulders, sucks on his neck and earlobe while his hips sway in full figure eights to the music. Draco moves to the front, smiles and regards Potter with half-lidded eyes.

"Look at this big bad Auror, all tied up like this, all _mine._ I could take a photo and send it to the _Prophet_ , you know," Draco points out while he fiddles with the collar of his oversized white shirt.

Potter lets out a strangled laugh.

"No, you wouldn't. You'd do something more subtle... like appear in my office without warning and then suck my cock under my table while I'm talking to someone."

"Now who's the kinky fuck?" Draco says, his cock twitching. He had thought he could do a full routine, but no he couldn't, Potter was right, _they couldn't wait a second longer_ -

Draco turns his back to face the wall and pulls his shirt off his right shoulder for four counts, then does the same to his left shoulder, before he twists back to throw his shirt at Potter's face, just like what Potter had done to him during his auditions. He dances back to Potter, sinks down to the floor, plants his hands on the side of Potter's knees and spreads his legs open wide.

Even under his briefs, Potter's prick looks fucking fabulous, Draco can't wait to find out how it really looks. Potter cants his hips upwards, but Draco pouts and shakes his head, his lips hooking up into a rich, artful smile.

"Fucking hell, Draco. Come _on._ What do I gotta do? Tell me what I gotta do to get that fuckin' mouth on me," Potter begs, his words becoming more and more garbled as he watches Draco twist to the side and slowly get up, presenting the side-view of the curve of his arse.

Draco loves how Potter's eyes immediately swivel to his arse.

Draco simply smiles wider and swings a leg up on the empty space on the chair between Potter's thighs and performs a few hip rolls, letting Potter get an eyeful of his own erection, encased in tight black briefs. With his back towards Potter, he arches his back to accentuate his arse and lowers himself down on Potter's right thigh, turning back to toss Potter a coy wink. He shifts his weight between Potter's legs — _fuck,_ Potter's so fucking hard it's unbelievable — and immediately springs up before Potter has a chance to grind against Draco's arse.

In time with the music, Draco bends over and pulls his briefs down for a blink-and-you'll-miss-it second.

"Please, _please_ ," Potter is properly begging now, each word bristling with explicit desire that goes straight to Draco's cock-

"What are you begging for? A blowjob, or me to get naked?" Draco asks as he turns to face Potter, his shoulders and waist moving to the music. He flings his arms out and drops his hands to his head, catching his fingers playfully through blond hair. Under Draco's sexually potent look, Potter's hands squirm under his tie and his hips wriggle on the chair.

"Both, I want both, now, right _now_!"

"Yes, and you'll get both tonight. But which one do you want first?"

Potter looks beautifully conflicted.

"Blowjob. Want you down here. Sucking. Licking."

Draco chuckles, a low, throaty chuckle coupled with a soft sneer on his lips. "If that's the case, then I'll get naked first then."

"Fuck you, _fuck you_ -"

"Yes, and that too," Draco's chuckle morphs into a full-blown laugh now. He sits down on the floor gracefully in front of Potter and slips his briefs off.

Potter licks his lips hungrily.

Draco loves it, loves how Potter's admiring gaze drops down the length of his entirely naked body, clocking every delicious detail, swell and dip of his body.

He loves how _intense_ Potter is.

Draco opens his eyes wide in a pretence of innocence and nuzzles his cheek on Potter's inner thigh. The head of Potter's cock peeks out from the top of his briefs, and Draco makes as if he's going to suck it right there, but immediately does an about-turn and kisses the inside of Potter's right thigh, all the way up to his crotch, skips past Potter's cock — Potter _whines_ — and continues kissing Potter's left thigh, down to his knee.

Draco returns to resting his cheek on Potter's thigh.

"You've been good, haven't you? So patient," Draco murmurs, stroking Potter's balls through his briefs.

Potter can only grunt, he's so far gone. A heady sense of _power_ storms through Draco's veins when he realises that at this split second, he — only _he_ — can be the only one to pleasure Potter.

Draco's fingers begin to tiptoe to the waistband of Potter's briefs. Potter immediately jerks his hips up for Draco to pull them off, and finally, _finally,_ Potter's cock springs free. He's deliriously _hard_ and thick and Draco wants to feel Potter's thickness in every corner of his mouth.

Potter sighs in bliss and thrusts upwards, and Draco isn't going to play any more games, because his self-control, which has been fraying at the edges ever since Potter told him _he's been hard since dinner_ , has just _snapped-_

"You look so good," Draco praises. With that, Draco rises up to his knees, opens his mouth wide and _swallows Potter as far as he would go_ -

Potter yells, throws his head back and fucks Draco's throat with all the desperation of a man denied every semblance of pleasure for years.

"Suck it, fuck, suck it like how you suck those cherries!" Potter cries out, his arms flexing as he tries to pull off the Slytherin tie-

Draco pops off suddenly, licks up the underside of Potter's cock and takes him in his mouth again, tongue spiralling all the way back down to the base. Draco sinks his fingernails into Potter's thighs and Potter finally looks at him, a wave of arousal crashing through green eyes-

"I- I- Draco, _Draco_ ," Potter pants, and Draco knows he's close, so _close_. Draco knows how good he looks when he's giving head — tousled blond hair, mouth stretched open wide around Potter's cock, cheeks hollowed as his head bobs to match Potter's thrusts.  

Potter's trying to nudge Draco away with his foot, but Draco's not having any of it.

Potter comes with a wail.

Draco grabs his hips and drives Potter's pulsing cock deeper down his throat, and Draco fucking takes it, takes every thrust and inch and _drop_ , because that's all he's been thinking about for the past few days, months, even _years._

He takes it like he's Potter's own personal Slytherin slut, because he _is._

"Fuckin' hell," Potter mutters after he's caught his breath. "I thought you wouldn't want to..."

"Wouldn't what? Swallow it all?" Draco croaks as he licks his glistening lips, smiling when Potter's pupils dilate at the sight. Draco gets up and straddles Potter's lap, forcing Potter's attention on his erection. "You forget that I'm a man of many talents." Draco kisses Potter squarely on the lips. "You taste delicious."

Potter grins, green eyes still cloudy with leftover lust.

Draco gestures to Potter's softening cock. "Guess it's my turn to wait now."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that," Potter says sheepishly.

In spite of himself, disappointment flares in Draco.

Well, this would be a good chance to see how long before Potter's ready again.

"Untie me, won't you?" Potter asks, his words melting into a groan as Draco leans closer to him to undo the tie around his wrists.

"So, what do you _mmph-_ " Draco's cut off mid-sentence when Potter crashes their lips together.

"Think it's funny, d'you?" Potter snarls, all sheepishness gone now. "Must've felt good, teasing me like that. I'm gonna fuck you right now, Draco, fuck you till you can't smirk or smile or dance like that anymore-" Potter promises, his eyes flashing as his hand wraps around Draco's cock.

Potter's cock is half-hard now and Draco gasps around Potter's fervent kisses.

"You just said-"

"I've been wanting to fuck you for so long, too long. Trust me, when I've gotten you all ready and waiting, that's the last thing you gotta worry 'bout," Potter growls, a low, thoroughly _filthy_ growl, and nudges Draco off his lap. He leads Draco not to the bed, but to his work table, Summoning a jar of lube on the way.

"Wait," Draco says and loops his Slytherin tie around Potter's neck. "I've always wanted to get fucked by you while you're wearing that. Your eyes match it so well."

Potter's eyes narrow.

"Get on," Potter orders, his voice rough. Draco eagerly obeys, his slinky and sexy act thrown to the winds because he'll do anything, _anything_ Potter wants. Draco scrambles onto the table, elbows braced on the edge, his left leg on the floor and the other raised and folded on the table. He twists round just to see Potter staring at him in that intense manner — eyes fixed on him, impassive and unmoving — that makes Draco even _harder_.

Desire flits like electricity all the way from Draco's fingertips down to his toes.

Potter slicks lube up his hardening prick and fingers, and Draco begs for him to hurry up, his toes curling in anticipation because in seconds, just seconds he'll be having sex with Potter, his favourite fantasy of _all time_ , and Draco's gone all giddy with longing- 

"I'm sorry, I know I gotta foreplay more, but I can't wait, I can't..." Potter babbles and steadies Draco's left hip. He slowly slides a finger in him, all the way up to the knuckle.

Draco gasps.

Fuck that, they've had years of verbal foreplay, Draco reasons in a haze of lust, that had to count for something, right?

"More, _more_!" Draco demands when Potter establishes a rhythm. His breathing shallow and ragged, Potter licks his lips and pushes a second finger along with the first, so slowly that Draco cries out, reaches back to grip Potter's wrist and _fucks himself with Potter's fingers_.

"If only you knew how you look like from here," Potter whispers huskily and pushes Draco's hand away. He continues fingering Draco, who's far from satisfied because, _because_ -

"Bet it'd look better with your cock up my arse," Draco says, his voice smoky with lust. "C'mon, _c'mon_... don't make us wait any longer..."

" _Fuck,_ " Potter gasps when he hears Draco's voice. He withdraws his fingers and Draco lets out a long, unhurried moan when he feels Potter pressing his cock against the crease of his arse, dragging it up and down infuriatingly slow, teasing him-

Draco tilts his hips backwards and rubs Potter's cock against him.

"Please fuck me," Draco turns back and murmurs with lowered lashes and pouting rosebud mouth. And that's all Potter needs, 'cos he's pushing in and he feels so good, so damn _good_ , even better than Draco's dozens of fantasies 'cos this is real and he can feel the heat radiating off Potter's body and Potter sounds… he sounds amazing, all soft breathy moans and gasps-

Draco bunches his fists up and grounds his elbows down on the table, his eyes squeezed shut. He lets out a sound of discomfort.

Potter stills at once. "Alright?"

Draco nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Potter pushes in just a bit more, pulls out, pushes back a bit deeper, pulls out, repeating this a few times. Draco closes his eyes as he feels his body relaxing, getting used to the intrusion, and slowly, but surely, he can feel the pain giving way to mounting pleasure- 

Potter's fully seated in him now, not moving, letting Draco relish the feeling of being filled up completely from the inside. His own hips snap back and forth just once, and that's all the confirmation that Potter needs to know that Draco's alright. Strong hands fasten tight onto Draco's hips, and Potter's movements acquire an intensity, an urgency that wrangles a cry of _Harry!_ from his throat.

"You called me Harry." 

"You've got your cock so far up my arse I can call you whatever the _fuck_ I want," Draco snarls back. Each thrust is ramping up his pleasure to unbelievable heights.

"That night, when I watched you - _oh fuck, Draco_ \- when you came, you screamed my name... you gotta... do... 'sall I've been thinkin' of," Potter slurs in between pants, hooking his arms snugly around Draco's waist and pulling him even closer.

"You like it loud?"

"Walls 're thin here. Want everyone 'round to hear you scream my name-"

Draco props his upper body up on the table and opens his legs wider.

"You kinky fuck," Draco groans and cries out his name, to which Potter only fucks him even _harder_ -

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the slither of his tie against Draco's spine, their combined cries and gasps and yells of _Harry, so good, don't stop, Harry_ \- is driving Draco crazy. His hands are gripping the edge of the table tight, and he's sure he'll have red marks from Potter's fingernails sunken deep on his hips, but he doesn't care, because nothing else matters right now in Draco's world, nothing but Potter's cock sliding in and out of him and _this must be what heaven feels like-_

He's not going to last long, and Potter seems to know it as he jacks up the pace, hitting all the sweet spots that make Draco's eyes roll back and starbursts of fever-pitch ecstasy explode in Draco's body.

"Scream my name when you come-"

Draco thinks of Potter's warm come filling up his mouth just moments ago, the feeling of having Potter deep in his throat and now deep up his arse, and that's it-

"Yes, anything you want, I'd do anything!" Draco practically sobs before he comes all over Potter's table and shrieks in part-relief and release, dripping lust all over Harry's name, but Potter isn't stopping, that fucking _bastard_ isn't stopping as he fucks Draco wildly _through his orgasm_ and Draco has never felt anything like this, this pushing-pulling thrusting _fucking_ motion in him as his orgasm thunders through him-

"Oh God, Harry, oh God, _Harry_ ," Draco slumps down on the table, forearms and head dangling from the table, his hips lowering when Potter slides out of him.

They're breathing in shallow, furious synchronisation, and Draco takes some time to catch his breath before sitting up to face Potter. Potter's face is all flushed and sweaty, and Draco pulls the tie off Potter's neck and glasses off his face.

"Hi," Potter whispers rather shyly, colour mounting in his cheeks. Without his glasses, Potter looks strangely vulnerable.

Draco bursts into laughter. "Is that all you've got to say? You give me the best sex of my life and then you say _hi_?" Draco cradles Potter's face in his hands, leans in and _licks_ a trail of sweat dripping down the side of Potter's cheek. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived to be a sex god."

Potter's blush deepens at the praise, and there it is again, that hand rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. Draco is suddenly reminded of Harry's audition at the club — all modesty and shyness disguised under a fantastic body.

"You talk as if we're done for the night," Potter says, pulling Draco closer and pressing his hand on his erection.

Draco gapes. "You didn't come?"

"You're forgetting that I just came after the best blowjob of my life." Hunger flickers in green eyes like lightning on a skyline. "And besides, I told you before, didn't I? That I would _worship you all night._ "

And as Potter hoists Draco off the table, throws him on the bed and pulls him into another position, Draco realises, with the familiar anticipation climbing yet again, that they're not done, they're not even _close-_

"Aren't you tired?" Draco wonders. He's sprawled out in bed, and Potter's on his knees leaning over him, a smirk on his face while he lubes up his prick lazily.

"Yeah, but I don't wanna stop fucking you. Too much to make up for. Why, you complaining?"

Draco returns Potter's smirk with one of his own. Draco's cock is already half-hard and twitching as he lifts his legs up and slides his arms under the back of his knees, holding his legs wide open in a W.

"Do I look like I am?" Draco's silky voice is like a caressing hand, and Potter pushes in, sinking every inch into Draco all over again. He thrusts a few times before pulling out. Draco's eyes open in confusion and then flutter close when Potter bends down to tenderly press a necklace of kisses on Draco's throat. Arousal zings up and down Draco's skin — where Potter's touching him — and he hauls Potter up to kiss him. A moan resonates between their mouths and Draco wraps his legs around Potter's arse, guiding Potter in him again while they kiss slowly, sweetly.

They finally break apart when Potter straightens up, grabs Draco's right leg and bends it over Potter's shoulder. Draco's other leg automatically falls to the side, opening himself even wider to Potter. Potter's eyes are dark with desire as he trails a hot-blooded gaze all over Draco's body, hissing in approval when he sees how spread-open Draco is for him. Potter reaches out, his fingers ghosting over Draco's scars held sharp and shocking against the pale backdrop of his skin — his Azkaban serial number, down to the Dark Mark and the Sectumsempra marks. 

No one's ever touched Draco like this before — his previous lovers have all ignored those scars, and by extension — Draco's past.

"They watch me strip, yes, but only you can touch me," Draco whispers. "Only you, Harry, because I don't want anyone else. You hear me? No one else. _Only you_ ," Draco reaches deep down in his heart, pulls up the moment of them slow-dancing in the moonlight, and kisses Potter all over again, a kiss that tears apart like a new emotion-

"Everything. I want everything. _Everything_ ," Potter demands. He entwines their fingers together and kisses Draco over and over and _over_ again as if he's the only person in the entire universe that holds the secrets to Draco's arousal.

"Need you in me, Harry, please, _please_ ," Draco begs, running his hands all over Potter's shoulders and arms. And it's absolute heaven when Potter fucks him all over again, but it's different this time — Draco notices through the sex-saturated swirl of his brain — gently, slowly, _luxuriously_ , and again, Potter's pulling out even before Draco has the chance to settle into a rhythm.

"Gotta make it last," Potter grunts, his palm sliding feather-light over the throbbing veins under Draco's wrists.

Time floats by in bouts of alternate fucking and kissing, and Draco had been sorely mistaken when he said that the sex on the table had been the best he'd ever had, because _this_ was nothing compared to that, abso- _fucking-_ lutely nothing-

The bed creaks under them, the headboard rattles against the wall, fingers tighten on creased bedsheets while Draco shudders and trembles and writhes, pleasure circulating in his body like a brand new drug, his cries escalating in intensity and volume as Potter drives into him with a new urgency each time.

"I would do this all night, but," Potter finally gasps, much to Draco's excitement.

"Come in me. Please, Harry, please, I'll take every drop, just like how I swallowed you all up. I'll take everything because I'm your Slytherin slut-"

"Fuck _yes_!" Potter howls, his grip on the back of Draco's knees tightening as he pumps hard and deep, sticky and sweet, into Draco. The feeling of having Potter's come in him is too much for Draco to bear... he's so close too, just a bit more, and Potter's done so much, fucked him so good and hard and long... Draco reaches down and touches himself.

Potter slides out of Draco and nudges Draco's hand away. He starts to wank Draco proper — three long pulls and one short jerk — the way he knows Draco likes because _he watched Draco wank_ and that knowledge is enough to make Draco come all over Potter's hand, but this time, he doesn't come screaming Potter's name, partly because he's gone half-hoarse, so Draco whispers _Harry, god, Harry_ right in Potter's ear, his voice as low and intimate as the rustling of sheets.

They both collapse in bed — heaving chests, sweaty bodies and spent cocks — all sexed out.

"Wow," Potter says after a while, staring at the ceiling.

"Yeah," Draco pauses. " _Yeah._ "  

Draco can barely string two words together.

Both of them fall silent in the afterglow, because no words can describe how intense the sex had been — _no words_ — so Potter simply folds Draco up in his arms.

"Alright?" He says after a long pause.

"Better 'n alright, and you know it," Draco whispers, kissing Potter's cheeky smile.

"Buttermilk pancakes for breakfast sound okay?"

"Anythin'," Draco mumbles.

Potter might have cleaned them up after that, Draco isn't sure 'cos he suddenly feels terribly sleepy — he's always been like this after sex — but the last thing that Draco remembers is Potter pressing his lips fondly on his temple and Draco's ensuing sleepy smile of happiness.

* * *

This isn't his bedroom.

Draco blinks himself fully awake when he takes in the unfamiliar decor and the messy clothes bunched away.

He would never leave his clothes out like that.

Images from the night before gradually filter into his consciousness — _Potter's_ bedroom, Potter's clothes and sex with Potter.

_Mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex with Potter._

"Sweet Salazar," Draco murmurs and presses his fingers against closed eyes. He could stay here forever, cocooned in those memories and in Potter's bed, surrounded by the scent of Potter and sex, but he hears movement in the kitchen.

Suddenly he's consumed with a desire to see Potter, _touch_ Potter-

Draco gets up and winces when he feels a tell-tale soreness in his lower body. He pads to the bathroom to take a leak, brush his teeth (Potter's left a spare toothbrush, how thoughtful) and pulls on his clothes from last night — his white shirt and black underwear. He looks in the mirror, finger-combs his hair and tries on a smirk for size.

Yep, still looking good and _completely_ unruffled by last night.

Right, as if.

Draco smells freshly-brewed coffee before he enters the kitchen. True to his word, Potter's at the stove making breakfast.

"Good morning," Draco greets, leaning against the doorjamb.

Potter looks up from the pan and smiles at Draco — just like how he had smiled at him last night — Draco's heart starts beating in double-quick time.

Draco takes a deep, steadying breath.

"Just in time," Potter says and tilts the pan to the side, topping up the small tower of buttermilk pancakes. Draco sets the table and it's not long before they're sitting down to breakfast. Draco drizzles more maple syrup and takes a big bite of fluffy pancake.

Potter raises an eyebrow at Draco's blissful expression. "Glad you like it."

Draco swallows and nods, grinning. "Have you been doing this your whole life, then?"

He had meant for it to be a light-hearted comment, but something closes up in Potter's face and Draco wishes at once he could take it back. Curious, Draco wants to know more, but Potter catches it and says brusquely, "Not now."

Potter hesitates, and when he speaks again, it's with a much softer tone.

"There's just some things in my past that I'm not ready to share with you yet," he offers by way of explanation.

Draco knows perfectly well what he means.

"I understand," Draco says, a quick smile flitting across his features. Potter smooths the conversation over with a smile of his own. They take their time over breakfast — probably _too_ much time, because Potter glances at his watch and looks apologetically at Draco's half-full plate.

"I've got a meeting in ten minutes."

"It's alright. I'll wash up," Draco says. Potter hurries to his room and emerges barely a minute later; fully changed and oh _fuck-_

Draco jumps up and paws desperately at Potter's Auror uniform. "You haven't fucked me in this yet."

"Soon," Potter says, and they're kissing all over again, just like last night, lips and tongue swirling all over like satin and silk — Potter tastes like coffee and honey. Potter pushes Draco's stripper shirt off his shoulders, his breath hitching when he sees the slither of love bites from neck to collarbone.

"I won't be able to concentrate at work today," Potter hisses, licking the trail of love bites.

"Then don't go. Stay in bed with me today and we can do it all over again," Draco pleads when Potter reaches round to grab at his arse. "When can I see you again?"

"I've got dinner with Ron and Hermione tonight and I reckon I'll be working late tomorrow. See you on Saturday?" Potter asks, nipping Draco's neck. "You know what they say, absence makes the heart fonder-"

"-and cocks harder," Draco pulls Potter in for another searing kiss.

"Fucking tease," Potter says between kisses, and once again, that same hunger thrums enticingly between their bodies, drawing them closer together. Potter finally clasps his hands around Draco's wrists and tugs them off his chest. He smiles and his green eyes are heart-stoppingly intense — honestly, how the _hell_ does Potter do this brooding intense thing so _well_ — as they travel all over Draco's face.

"Saturday," Potter promises. He inches up to press his lips on Draco's forehead, and before Draco can do anything else but lean back against the wall, he's disappeared in a flurry of red robes and a flare of the Floo.

Potter always did affectionate gestures like this — a kiss on the forehead here, a squeeze of the hand there and if only he knew how much these small, throw-away actions made Draco feel all warm and unexpectedly sweet, as if honey's slathered all over his skin-

Draco sits back down and blushes into his pancakes.

He finishes his food, deep in thought. Potter's fantastic in bed, makes a mean breakfast, he's considerate... various adjectives pop up in Draco's mind when he thinks of Potter as a... a what? A... boyfriend? Someone to fuck? Somewhere in between? Before this whole _thing_ with Potter started, he's only ever thought of the other man in a sexual context, but could he dismiss this as a fuck-and-run? Draco's never really sat down and had a proper think about this. He imagines having dinner with Potter, Granger and Weasley. He can't — there's just something wrong with that picture, but if he wants to be a constant in Potter's life, that's something he'll have to deal with, isn't it, because the three of them practically came in a package deal.

"Harry," Draco says out loud, the name echoing in the empty kitchen. It sounds strange, saying it when he isn't lost in the throes of sexual abandon.

"Harry," he tries again. The name weighs heavily on his tongue, but it falls easier from his lips this time.

Draco thinks of all the dances they've shared — hot and heavy in the club and slow and sweet in Potter's living room.

_"I'm falling for you, Draco Malfoy."_

They've got so much baggage between them that it could fill up an airport — all their childish schoolyard fights and their blood-stained history wedged between them like a third shadow — and it seems impossible to craft a relationship out of this, but-

_your hair is messy and your shoelaces are always untied-_

Draco carries the breakfast things to the sink. Sunshine streams through the windows, sparkling with hope and promise. Outside, puffball clouds scud their merry way across the cornflower blue sky. Draco flicks his wand to wash the dishes — here he is, washing plates in Potter's kitchen after he's cooked him breakfast and had amazing sex after they've been... _dating_ for a month.

_but if I said I didn't like you that would be a lie-_

It's fucking surreal, like he'd missed a step going down the stairs.

Maybe, just maybe, he can get used to saying Harry's given name soon.

Maybe all they need is time and a whole lot of patience and understanding to coax this potential — potential like a rose's first bloom in a fresh summer garden — into something worthwhile.

_I think I'm falling for you too._

Draco lets out a short bark of laughter and sinks his face in his hands.

He should have known that nothing was easy when it came to Harry Potter.

* * *

**/fin**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/114719.html).


End file.
